


What the Tinman Found

by lori (zakhad)



Series: Captain and Counselor, the revised versions [10]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-20 21:05:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17629676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: This one was written when my head was less in the game, and I didn't revise. It's long been a thorn in my side and while there was potential in it, I obviously failed hard with realizing that potential. Time to go back and weave in some other dropped hints from later in the series, tune up the dialogue, flesh out some characters, and give it some serious facelifts. Especially where trauma, counseling, and Deanna's handling of the situation are concerned.The archive warnings don't apply, but I will note that there is trigger potential for suicide. I also warn that I do not entirely follow canon as regards the Borg - they built them up, and then they watered them down again, and used them to serve plot du joir rather than having a coherent narrative for them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aussiefan70](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aussiefan70/gifts).



  
_Who stole your heart_  
_The smile from your face_  
_The innocence the light from your eyes_  
_Who stole your heart or did you give it away_  
_And if so then when and why_  
  
_Who took away the part so essential to the whole_  
_Left you a hollow body_  
_Skin and bone_  
_What robber what thief_  
_Who stole your heart and the key_  
  
_Now all sentiment is gone_  
_Now you have no trust in no one_  
  
_If you can tear down the walls_  
_Throw your armor away remove all roadblocks barricades_  
_If you can forget there are bandits and dragons to slay_  
_And don't forget that you defend an empty space_  
_And remember the tinman_  
_Found he had what he thought he lacked_  
  
  
~~Tracy Chapman ~~  
  
————————-  
  
"Counselor Troi, it's a pleasure to meet you," Sam Kohlman exclaimed. His affable grin told her what kind of counselor he was -- the sort who could win anyone over just on the basis of charm. On the small screen, he laughed at himself a little. "Well, sort of meet you."  
  
"Subspace is close enough for the government, as they say. What can I do for you, Counselor?"  
  
"Sam, please. I don't stand much for formality." His open, rounded face lost its happy lines. The look in the dark brown eyes was enough to tell Deanna he had a problem, and thought she could help him solve it. "Admiral March suggested that I call you, especially since _Enterprise_ is going to be in the vicinity. Admiral Gaines seconded the suggestion. I hate to bring this to you at this point, but -- I'm in over my head."  
  
She could see the shame the admission brought him. Deanna surreptitiously toggled the door lock to prevent unexpected visitors.  
  
"It's your captain, isn't it?"  
  
Confirmation, and a little surprise, brought his eyes up from his desk. "I wish I could figure her out. It doesn't make sense that she keeps stonewalling me the way she's doing. Would you listen to the transcripts of the last few sessions and tell me what's gone wrong? I've been a psychologist for fifteen years, and this one's got me stumped."  
  
"How long have you been in Starfleet?"  
  
"Barely two years." One of the older Starfleet enlistees, the number of which had been on the upswing lately, especially in the medical and psychological departments.  
  
"The psychology of a starship captain isn't exactly the same as your average civilian patient -- but you know that, obviously. And yours is one of the ones I'd say would be most likely to cause you difficulty." Deanna smiled reassuringly. She glanced down at the clock she kept displayed on her desk. "Go ahead and transmit the logs. I'll be happy to help, if I can."  
  
"Has Captain Picard given you much trouble?"  
  
"It gets easier when you've worked with someone for a number of years, and there's some trust between you. The captain has tried my patience at times, but usually all it takes is a little perseverance. Of course, I'm no longer his personal counselor -- not that he's needed any sessions lately. He's actually been remarkably low-maintenance, considering all he's been through."  
  
"I've heard stories," Sam said. "You sure landed a plum position on the _Enterprise_. Out of professional curiosity -- how is it working out, um, with your. . . ."  
  
Deanna smiled. "It works. It probably helps that we've worked together for over a decade, and that I can usually predict what sort of impact certain behaviors on our parts might have on the crew. It wouldn't be something I would recommend to the less experienced captain. It requires a great deal of discipline and a strong command personality. . . ." The odd look on Sam's face made her pause. "Sam?"  
  
"Um. Well -- it was part of the reason you were recommended, I think. My problem started after our second officer's death in the line of duty."  
  
Deanna took that in slowly. "I see. And she blames herself for his death? Or is she simply in denial? Or so grief-stricken she's overcompensating?"  
  
"I think she falls under 'all of the above.' It's hard for me to tell when she won't talk to me. She swears, or orders me out -- usually both. Makes me wish I was Betazoid."  
  
"How long have you known her?"  
  
"A year, but she never has much to do with me. She listens politely and treats me like just another part of the ship's equipment."  
  
"She's been captain of the _Potemkin_ for two years, correct?"  
  
"And proud of having a 'big gun' for her second command. You should hear her in full strut when the brass come aboard for a tour."  
  
Deanna mused for a moment over the thumbnail sketch of the patient. "Has she a close personal relationship with anyone else on board the ship? The first officer, for example?"  
  
"Nope. She's already had one transfer out from under her -- accepted a post on a starbase to get away from her. The new one, deBora, works well with her but he's L'norim and as friendly as a bulkhead. Even he's gotten worried, though. He was the one who brought her relationship with Tony to my attention -- you wouldn't have known what was going on with them unless you were part of the bridge crew, I'd guess. And I don't get to sit on the bridge often on a dreadnought."  
  
"Okay, let me sum this up -- you've got a patient who's stubborn, proud, addicted to the power of her position and the control she exerts, distances herself from her fellow officers, is tough to work with which probably means extreme perfectionism, refuses to speak to her ship's counselor, and the only person she allowed to get close to her died under her command. Isolated, by her choice, and determined to stay that way. You realize you're too affable for her to respond well to you?"  
  
"Hindsight, unfortunately. When I came aboard it never occurred to me that I'd need to establish a command persona with my captain. Too late now -- she laughs in my face if I try to get tough. She doesn't care that I can declare her unfit, and that may be because she knows I can't, yet. She's not reached that point and she's arrogant enough to think she can keep it that way. But if something isn't done soon, she's going to crash and burn. My notes sound like textbooks. What the textbooks don't do is tell me how to chip away the hull plating and get inside where I can help, when the patient can dismiss me. And Admiral March wants me to try getting outside help before giving up and playing that final hand. She's a good captain, when she's not being such a hardass."  
  
"And the more you try, the more annoyed she'll be, because you have no foundation of trust to use as leverage."  
  
He looked depressed, head bowed, long lashes falling against his rounded cheeks. "I don't know if you'll be able to help, either. I hate to say it, but you just don't strike me as being tough enough."  
  
"Would you like to talk to Captain Picard about that? ”  
  
Sam laughed, rolling his eyes. "All right. Point taken."  
  
"Send me all your logs on your sessions with her, and I'll give you a call when the _Enterprise_ reaches Rigel. And Sam -- don't be surprised if what I suggest sounds odd. It may take some creativity to solve this problem. I've only met Captain Shelby once, and that was a long time ago, before she was promoted."

 

* * *

  
  
"So where is she, Jean-Luc?" Shelby had to be the one to lead out with the inevitable question. The others had hinted at it, but she had never been one to hedge.  
  
Jean-Luc glanced around at the three captains and single admiral. Impromptu gatherings like this weren't terribly unusual when there were multiple ships in the area and all was quiet. In a way, he regretted mentioning Glendenning's invitation when Deanna had called him into her office and picked his brain for ways to gain Shelby's trust.  
  
He raised an eyebrow at Shelby and finally responded to the question. "She?"  
  
"You can't be serious." Glendenning slumped back in his chair and snorted. "You know we all know. You should invite her to join us."  
  
"Like hell I should," Jean-Luc growled, and reached lazily for his drink. He let his eyes travel up, to the wall behind Admiral Gaines, as if bored with that idea.  
  
The dive Bellamy had chosen didn't have much in the way of ambiance. Dimly lit, shabby green tablecloth, a lurid vaguely-pornographic depiction of Klingon women battling -- or possibly mating with, it was difficult to tell -- Klingon men on the wall. There was an old rusty-looking bat'leth in a bracket on a shelf below the scene, matching mek’leths stuck to the wall at random. Behind Jean-Luc, the bar was occupied by a scattering of people, two to four to a table, not a uniform in sight. It was not a popular place, judging from the empty chairs. That might have had something to do with the Tellarite in the corner near the door who was drunkenly attempting to play a battered piano.  
  
It was one of those tasteless places one wouldn't expect to find a bunch of high-ranking officers. Probably why Bellamy had chosen it. The crews of five ships were wandering about the streets outside on leave, frequenting the cleaner, well-lit establishments. Getting away from them for a while was the idea.  
  
Bellamy grinned, not incidentally reminding Jean-Luc of Walker Keel in his younger days. Bellamy was Keel's much-younger cousin, and just as headstrong and dramatic as his relative. His black hair fell in his face constantly; he'd made it his trademark to have a lock of it falling down his forehead just over his left eye.  
  
"Jean-Luc likes to keep his women to himself," he said, winking.  
  
"I heard she's Betazoid," Glendenning said. The man's blond hair was shot through with grey, and he'd let his beard grow in, shaping it into a goatee. Jean-Luc didn't know him well, but had the impression he was a vain man so far as his appearance went. Tom Glendenning was one of those officers who never made the evening news. That might mean a lot of intelligence work.  
  
"Her service record is readily available," Jean-Luc said. "If you're that interested."  
  
Admiral Gaines smiled into his drink, a mai tai, of all things. Shelby glanced at Gaines and jogged his elbow. "Admiral?"  
  
"I've met Commander Troi. She's a lovely woman."  
  
"Troi?" Shelby's head jerked back in recognition. "You mean the same Troi who was aboard when I was helping you with the Borg?"  
  
"Yes, the same," Jean-Luc interjected, sipping the last of his whiskey. He had been nursing the drink for the past hour while the war stories flew around him.  
  
"Oh. My. She's quite a bit. . . younger, isn't she?” Shelby actually had a dimple when she grinned.  
  
"Quite."  
  
Bellamy's rolling laughter set off Glendenning. The two exchanged conspiratorial glances, and both looked across the table at Jean-Luc. Gaines shook his head.  
  
"You're all missing the obvious."  
  
"I'm not sure what you mean, missing the obvious." Glendenning rubbed his head, ruffling his inch-long buzz cut. "It's pretty impressive if you ask me. Oldest captain in the fleet and he can still -- "  
  
"This could turn into a roast, if you're not careful." Gaines studied the other four faces around the table soberly. "Show the man a little respect."  
  
"Hell, I respect him -- anyone who can have his ship and get laid regular by an officer has all the respect I'm capable of," Glendenning exclaimed.  
  
"Just because Jean-Luc's the only one who has the balls to admit it doesn't mean he's the only one doing it.”  
  
Bellamy and Glendenning exchanged a look and pointedly studied their drinks.  
  
"I remember her," Shelby said, as if the exchange between the men hadn't happened. "I remember those big dark eyes. She didn't say much -- just sort of hovered around, giving occasional emotional weather reports. She's an empath, right?"  
  
"Yes, she is." Jean-Luc appraised the woman briefly. Everyone else had worn civvies, but she'd stayed in uniform, and unlike many women she looked good in it. The form-fitting utilitarian lines of standard uniforms weren't so flattering to more generously-proportioned female officers.  
  
Shelby smiled -- not her nice smile, though. The one that usually announced a blistering remark. "She didn't strike me as being your type."  
  
"Really? And just what is my 'type?'"  
  
Shelby inclined her head and sat back. She'd cut her hair short, styling it into a cap of curls. "Well, to be completely honest, I thought I might be."  
  
"You really should stop drinking so much, Captain," Jean-Luc said, letting amusement shine through.  
  
"No, really," Shelby exclaimed over the guffaws of Glendenning and Bellamy, and for a moment, Gaines. "I mean someone with -- well, you know."  
  
"Balls?" Jean-Luc asked, raising an eyebrow. "That is the term, isn't it, Admiral?"  
  
Shelby reddened. "Backbone. A voice."  
  
Jean-Luc raised his head slightly. "You think a ship's counselor has no voice? Do you listen to yours?"  
  
"Sure I do. He usually doesn't have much to do on the bridge, though. How does a counselor really understand what they don't experience?"  
  
"Deanna does." Jean-Luc chewed his lip briefly. "She took the bridge test. She leads away teams, for some missions. She captured a group of former Maquis recently."  
  
"Hey, this sounds like a good story," Glendenning exclaimed.  
  
"How is the crew handling it?" Gaines said, deflecting their attention from the good story. "You've got a lot of folks at Command watching those reports like hawks, looking for morale problems or lackluster performance. I'm not in the official pipeline to see what's going on -- I'd like to hear what's happening."  
  
"Other than the usual tasteless jokes, it's not an issue. Especially after six months of the same boring public behavior on our parts." He held up his empty glass and eyed it as if offended to find it empty. It took a moment, but he thought he detected a response to his wordless request. He didn't look over his shoulder to watch her come in from the far end of the bar, but the others were watching, Glendenning's eyebrows climbing.  
  
The sound of her heels striking the floor panels approached, and the others looked up as she came to a stop at his left shoulder, putting a hand on a hip and posing. The ruby red dress might have been painted on; the skirt was short enough that everyone could see how muscular her thighs were. The lacquer on her long nails matched the dress.  
  
Jean-Luc glanced up nonchalantly and held up his glass. She took it and sauntered off toward the bar.  
  
"God," Bellamy whispered.  
  
"She doesn't like to be deified, actually," Jean-Luc said.  
  
"Has she been here all this time?" Glendenning said. "Why didn't you just tell her to join us?"  
  
“She's her own person -- if she wanted to be here, she would be." Not to mention she'd been paying close empathic attention to Shelby's unaffected emotions, and that wouldn't be possible if Shelby were aware of her presence. Now that Shelby knew Deanna was there, her reaction to that knowledge would be measured as well.  
  
"I'm sure she couldn't resist if she only knew what high esteem in which these gentlemen hold her," Shelby commented acerbically. "Judging from the lengths of their tongues, she'd have a fine time."  
  
Jean-Luc kept his poker face intact. Deanna returned with a full glass and placed it on the table in front of him. She stood over him a moment; she'd let her hair down and pulled all of it forward over her left shoulder, spilling curls down her bare shoulder.  
  
"They'd like to know if you would join us," he said, inclining his head toward Bellamy and Glendenning.  
  
"I thought this was a captains-only gathering," she replied. Her red lips tipped into a lazy smile. She glanced at the other men with the casual interest she might give scientific specimens. "Good evening, Admiral Gaines. Nice to see you again."  
  
"The pleasure is all mine, Commander," Gaines said, openly admiring her.  
  
"Captain Shelby -- it's been a long time." Deanna tilted her head, regarding the other woman with more interest than the men. "Belated congratulations on your promotion."  
  
"Thank you, Counselor. I should offer the same to you -- I don't believe you were a commander the last time we met."  
  
"I took the bridge test a few years later. Are you going to be here long? I haven't toured a dreadnought before."  
  
"You and the captain are welcome to come aboard, of course," Shelby said without real enthusiasm. "I'd be happy to show you the nickel tour. As long as the favor's returned -- I was at the commissioning ceremony of the _Enterprise_ E, but I didn't get the whole tour."  
  
Deanna looked to Jean-Luc. He sipped a little whiskey, and looked at her as if he weren't bothered at all by her apparel or her hip-hitched pose. "Sit down, already."  
  
"I haven't decided if I want to or not,” she said playfully. She turned and walked a few steps behind him, studying Bellamy, who was seated next to him. Bellamy moved into the empty chair between himself and Glendenning and shoved his vacated seat out from the table.  
  
"Nice of you to show up and show off," Shelby said.  
  
Deanna stared at the other woman briefly, then shifted her gaze to Jean-Luc. "I think I'll just wait for you, if you don't mind. Whenever you're ready."  
  
"Commander," Glendenning said. "It was an incorrect assumption, I'm sure. Please join us."  
  
"Thank you, Captain, but I'm just as comfortable with the leers I was getting on the other end of the bar. I'll be at the dabo table, Jean. Don't take all night, there’s a fellow beating me at every turn. You may have to pay for dinner."  
  
She left with her usual confident yet appealing swinging stride, and Bellamy and Glendenning glared at Shelby. Jean-Luc studied his drink.  
  
"I'm sorry, Captain Picard."  
  
"Nice of you to suddenly find manners," he said, darting a sidelong glance at Shelby. "And you are definitely not my type."  
  
She bit her lower lip. "I deserved that. I'm sorry."  
  
"How long has she served with you?" Glendenning asked.  
  
"Almost fourteen years. I gave her a lot of hell, as a patient." A corner of his mouth turned up slightly. "I suppose she has a right to give some of it back to me. I can't complain."  
  
Gaines glanced at Shelby. "So you knew her well enough to know you could take the chance, Jean-Luc?"  
  
"You could say that."  
  
Shelby looked thoughtful. ”You could still see it crash down around you, you know."  
  
"I doubt it."  
  
"What makes you so damn sure?" Shelby exclaimed. "What is it that makes you think you can disregard regulations that're there for a damn good reason?"  
  
Jean-Luc studied the flustered woman. "I'm not disregarding anything. I haven't broken any of the regs."  
  
"You've got to have the most unusual relationship to pull this off," Shelby exclaimed.  
  
"Two relationships, actually. One of which was quite well established before the other began."  
  
"But where do the boundaries fall?" Glendenning finished his drink and looked into the glass, brow furrowed.  
  
Jean-Luc snorted. "That only works for me, Tom. You can't get refills that way."  
  
Bellamy gave a lopsided grin. "Let me guess -- you draw the boundary with the uniform. Officers when it's on, and -- "  
  
"It's not that simple. And why are we discussing this? What happened to the war stories?"  
  
"This is much more interesting, as I'm sure you know," Gaines said. "The boundary question is one that's bothering the folks at Command, too."  
  
“It’s impossible,” Shelby asserted firmly.  
  
"I appreciate the concern, Elisabeth, but it's not something I've embarked upon entirely on a whim. I have two careers to think about, and no intention of damaging either of them."  
  
Her stare deepened to a glare, and she chewed the inside of her cheek. Something in her expression set off warning bells in Jean-Luc's head. This was the wrong reaction, the one they didn't want.  
  
_Deanna. . . deep water, here._ He knew she was paying close attention, and would hear the thought. That had been something they had discovered over the past months, that she was more able to speak with him in that way than before.  
  
_I’m on my way._  
  
Jean-Luc raised his glass to his lips again, but there was a sudden shriek of chair legs across the floor, a shout, and then he heard Deanna call out angrily — he was on his feet and turning to look, and Glendenning was as well.  
  
A man was swaggering at Deanna, looking drunkenly intent on her. She stood her ground and tossed her hair back, settling into a familiar stance.  
  
“Hell,” he muttered under his breath. “Commander!”  
  
The order carried across the bar, and identifying her as an officer did the trick — the drunk backed off, and Deanna sidled around the table to her left and headed for them again.   
  
“Sir,” Deanna said, coming to attention behind the chair Bellamy had vacated.  
  
Glendenning sat down again, grinning and cuffing Bellamy’s shoulder. Jean-Luc nodded at the empty chair, pulled it out for her, and as she sat down he took his glass over to the bar.  
  
When he returned, he put a tall purple mixed drink with a flower on the rim in front of her and sat down, taking a sip of his whiskey and putting the tumbler on the table.  
  
“You all right, hon?” Glendenning asked.  
  
“I’m fine,” Deanna said with a saucy head tilt. She crossed her legs under the table, doing the dress-adjustment shimmy. Picked up her drink and smiled happily at Jean-Luc. “What are we talking about?”  
  
“They’re asking about how we manage the personal and the professional,” he replied, sounding thoroughly bored of the topic.  
  
She turned to Bellamy and Glendenning, and waved a ruby-red fingernail at Jean-Luc. “He’s Captain Picard. Maybe that wasn’t obvious enough.”  
  
Jean-Luc scowled at her, though he wanted to laugh with the other two. “Dee,” he scolded mildly.  
  
“You may as well ask how I managed to be his counselor and his officer at the same time,” she said, speaking across the table at the admiral. “The problem is similar. Yet counselors all over Starfleet are managing that just fine.”  
  
“Not quite the same, however. Counselors don't leave their brassieres -- “  
  
“Really, we’re doing that here?” she cut in, flinging her hair back and withdrawing the hand she’d extended toward the drink he had brought for her. She put just enough irritation in the tone to carry it off, but not enough to sound like she was really angry.  
  
“You just almost caused a major incident in a bar. You weren’t supposed to do that here, either.”  
  
“I have strong feelings about someone placing his hand on my ass without my permission.” She smirked at him. “I’m a little surprised that you do not.”  
  
“The only reason my security chief let me wander around without an ensign in a tight orbit was your presence,” he said, leaning back and resisting the urge to tug on the plain brown shirt he wore as he did his uniforms. “I hardly think you are in need of protection, if the security chief of the flagship of the Federation sees fit to assign you to my security detail.”  
  
“I mention your feelings upon watching someone manhandle me, you launch into why you let someone grab my ass based on the lack of necessity of intervening. Someone has interesting boundaries.”  
  
“I don’t talk about feelings in the presence of admirals.”  
  
Deanna laughed again, finally picking up her drink to take a sip. "And that is a hard and fast boundary without negotiation.”  
  
“Makes me wonder why you need a security detail on Rigel,” Glendenning said, inclining his head toward the lethargic clientele behind him.  
  
“Let’s just say the Romulan Empire has an interest that keeps them turning up wherever he might happen to be,” Deanna said lazily. She was doing a passable imitation of tipsy — heavy-lidded eyes, lackadaisical manner, imprecise gestures with her fingers.  
  
"So tell us about this mission where you captured Maquis?" Bellamy said, leaning forward keenly.  
  
"It sounds like Jean-Luc already has," she replied, sobering a little at the mention of Galisi.  
  
"Not really," Glendenning said.  
  
_Brace yourself, Jean-Fish._ Deanna didn't look at Shelby, or Gaines; she smiled at Bellamy and Glendenning, took another sip, and launched into the story.  
  
"They had six vessels, and some sort of cloak that kept us from finding them using ship's sensors," she said, plucking the flower out of the drink. She spoke with such insouciance that it was a good thing she had warned him, or he might have chided her for being dismissive, as she went on. "So a search pattern was planned to implement visual reconnaissance of the surface of the planet. But time was an issue, so I led the mission. I could sense them. I was able to guide the shuttle to the valley they had chosen for their encampment but they detected us, and our runabout was fired upon before we could land or return to the ship. When I came to, our security officer was carrying me out of the wreckage."  
  
"I thought this was how you captured the Maquis," Glendenning said. "Were they in sickbay?"  
  
Deanna rolled her eyes, turned to Jean-Luc, and gave him a look that questioned his sanity. He held up his hands in surrender.  
  
"I'm listening," Shelby said. She wasn't responding in kind to Deanna's tone, as Glendenning was.  
  
Deanna smiled at Elisabeth and spoke to her across the table, less dismissive now. "I could tell there were six of them approaching us, so ordered everyone into cover, and left some of our gear in the open. Then it was six of them staking out our gear, while we waited for them. I had a broken leg, burns, and a bloody laceration, so I crawled out there, pretending to be trying to get to the gear. It drew them out of hiding and so our security chief stunned them. I was unable to get out of the way fast enough, so I was hit at the edge of a wide dispersal beam."  
  
"So you were in a lot of pain," Gaines said, sympathetic, sincerely impressed -- he hadn't heard this detail. Neither had Glendenning; he sat up a little straighter.  
  
"And I sat with the stunned Maquis with a phaser while the rest of the away team went in to disable the jamming device, so we could contact the _Enterprise_. It took a little while."  
  
"Then she beamed to sickbay and had to have surgery to realign the skull fracture, heal the plasma burns, and start the process of re-growing her hair," Jean-Luc said. It took a moment for it all to sink in -- plasma burns, phaser stun, and she had completed the mission anyway.  
  
"And you would send her out again," Gaines said, half-asking.  
  
"I have done so, yes, and she'll likely be going on an extended assignment shortly," Jean-Luc said, as if it was nothing bothersome to contemplate. "Intelligence work."  
  
Shelby seemed upset as he said it -- her blue eyes glanced off him, and she looked down, then calmed herself and was smiling again, with obvious determination. "And you think that's a good idea?"  
  
Deanna picked up his near-empty tumbler and her glass with a little pink foam in the bottom, and took a walk to the bar. He turned from watching her go to smile benignly at Shelby. "It would be good for her career to accept the assignment."  
  
Shelby shook her head as if stunned by this. "You are saying that you are sending your girlfriend, a counselor, on some intelligence assignment, with a straight face."  
  
"I am sending an officer who I know well, on a dangerous mission that I already know she can do. Are you questioning my sanity or her abilities?"  
  
Deanna returned with two pints of ale and put them on the table, catching most of his comment. "Both. The last time she was aboard the _Enterprise_ you were assimilated. How would you expect her to know you so well that she could assume you would willingly do a very difficult thing in spite of the trauma it will cause you?"  
  
It was usual, that at the mention of his assimilation, people would look at him with varying levels of emotion. Gaines seemed shocked that Deanna had dropped it into conversation. Jean-Luc ignored the admiral and paid more attention to Shelby. She'd dropped her gaze and seemed lost in her own little world, at the moment.  
  
"I would expect her to believe that I am a starship captain," he said with no rancor nor anxiety. "And that I do my best under any circumstance, as we all do, to make responsible, rational decisions, based in our principles and following regulations."  
  
"I am trying to decide whether to respond to that as your counselor, your officer or your girlfriend," Deanna said. Her smile indicated she would be amused any way she said it.  
  
Jean-Luc watched her drink some of the beer, waiting, and she seemed to now be seriously thinking about what to say next. She drank down about a third of the pale ale and finally gave him the feedback he was waiting for as to what direction to go next.  
  
"I thought we were going out to dinner," he said as she put down her glass.  
  
"You seem to want to stay and talk about this. I am merely waiting for orders." She gave him a puckish look, licking a little of the foam from her ale from her lip.  
  
"If you wanted to leave you could have said so," he said, picking up his untouched ale. "Would any of you like to drink this? We have a reservation in the Bajoran restaurant."  
  
"Bajoran?" Deanna exclaimed, frowning.  
  
"You said you didn't want Klingon or Rigellian. The Chinese place here is terrible and the Mexican restaurant is worse. If you'd prefer something other than Bajoran we'd be better off with a replicator."  
  
Deanna affected a pout, shook her head, and sighed. "Well. I suppose. So what time would you like us to come for a tour tomorrow, Captain?"  
  
"Ten hundred hours would be fine," Shelby said.  
  
"I'll be there. I'm looking forward to it." Deanna picked up her ale and took another drink of it.  
  
"Are you going to be able to walk?" Jean-Luc asked, a little incredulous. "How many drinks have you had now?"  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow," Shelby said, rising. She nodded to Bellamy and Glendenning, and said good-bye to Gaines, edged around the table, and made her way out of the bar. Jean-Luc watched her go and turned back to the admiral.  
  
"What do you think?" Gaines asked, directing it to Deanna.  
  
There was a subtle shift of posture and an obvious change of mood reflected in Deanna's expression. "I think she's not going to respond to any attempt from me as a counselor. She may respond to me if I approach as a concerned friend."  
  
"Seems like a lot of work," Glendenning said, leaning until his chair was balanced on the back two legs.  
  
"You can't just order her into counseling?" Bellamy asked Gaines.  
  
"If I ordered you into a counselor's office after you decided you did not need it, how would those sessions work for you?" Gaines asked.  
  
Deanna sighed and watched Jean-Luc drink some of his beer. "Given the nature of the problem, she needs a person she can trust, and there's no way to force her to accept counseling from anyone since she's done nothing but the basic annual assessments with counselors. It's miserable to have someone forced into your office who absolutely won't engage with you, and miserable to be ordered into counseling that you rejected."  
  
"I never thought I would thank you for talking me into it early, after we came aboard the _Enterprise_ , but I am grateful that you did," Jean-Luc said. He thought about his darker days, shaking his head, slouching in his chair.  
  
"Would you like some real whiskey now?" Deanna said, smiling.  
  
Glendenning laughed, flinging his hands up. "Yeah. You're a natural for intelligence work."  
  
"So all this time," Bellamy said, gesturing at their glasses. "This whole evening you had no alcohol?"  
  
"No, the bartender had instructions -- I can go give him different ones. If you want," she said, leaning across to kiss Jean-Luc's cheek. "Poor man, roped into helping me with guerrilla counseling."  
  
"I'll forgive you if we can have a real drink now."  
  
"I'm buying," she said, rising from her chair and collecting their glasses. "I also have to buy that ensign a round, for pretending he grabbed my ass."  
  
"This was a hell of an elaborate setup -- but Shelby didn't say anything really, so how did you even get anywhere tonight?" Bellamy asked.  
  
“He said she’s an empath. So she knows how excited you were about her dress,” Glendenning said.  
  
“And you,” Deanna said, as she turned to head for the bar.  
  
While she was gone, Jean-Luc rubbed his eyes and wished for an early bedtime.  
  
“It’s hard to pretend you’re drunk,” Glendenning commented.  
  
“Isn’t she going to be upset that you tried to manipulate her?” Bellamy asked.  
  
“That would be why we met in a bar,” Gaines said. “I suspect the next step is an apology, no doubt quite sincere, because this wasn’t easy for Jean-Luc.”  
  
“Quite so.” Jean-Luc smiled as Deanna came back with whiskey for him and a glass of wine for herself. “Thank you. And again, thank you for kicking my ass when I needed it, before I had to have counseling to save my life.”  
  
Deanna’s smile was no longer loopy and pretend-drunk, and she raised her wine glass to tap the edge of his tumbler. “You are quite welcome to repay me with a foot massage. These shoes are killing my feet.”  
  
“I’ll get the next round then. Does this mean you won’t take me dancing?”  
  
She laughed with genuine joy then, and _hajira_ burned in his ears for a moment. “Not if you ordered me to,” she said, crossing her legs and giving him a look that broadcasted her affection loud and clear.  
  
“Good. If there’s anything I’m worse at than acting, it’s dancing.” Jean-Luc sipped the real whiskey and smiled. “For someone who doesn’t like whiskey you seem to be good at choosing it.”  
  
“I have a good memory and powers of observation on my side. And you have some specific preferences.”  
  
“I like dresses,” Glendenning announced. “That's my preference. They always contain such wonderful things.”  
  
Deanna spent a moment sizing him up. “Get your own Betazoid,” she said at length, turning back to smile at Jean-Luc. “This one is not interested in your preferences.”


	2. Chapter 2

"I have to say, you're not what I expected," Elizabeth Shelby said. "Although I should have realized that he wouldn't let you lead away missions if you were only a counselor."

Deanna looked up from the cup of tea she'd been handed, across the desk. Obviously the captain had calmed down enough to observe what she had been told was true. The tour had been nearly cookie cutter, the presentation polished. Shelby had obviously had many admirals and dignitaries visit the _Potemkin_. There had been times that she had surprised Shelby, by asking the engineer informed questions or commenting on the specifics of a department in a way that suggested she had actually worked in operations or security.

"I have been standing watch and attending some of the cadet trainings," Deanna said. "Gaining perspectives on the other departments, so I'm aware of how to manage workflow during a mission."

"Are you moving on from counseling, then?" Elizabeth seemed almost normal. Initially she'd had some anxiety, meeting Deanna in the transporter room. Letting go of her own anxiety and allowing the rapport to develop without pushing for more was Deanna's strategy, now.

"I'm considering it, but there's no hurry in deciding. I have a lot to consider, more than I did before when it was just my career."

Shelby experienced a spike of emotion that quickly subsided. "A lot of couples accept that they will be stationed apart for the duration."

"Yes. But that is not acceptable to us." Deanna drank tea, and thought about Jean-Luc. He had been talking over subspace to admirals, the excuse for not being on the tour with her, and she could sense that was no longer the case. From the level of focus she sensed from him, and the accompanying emotions, he was currently reading his latest book.

"That will make it interesting for you if you are really pursuing command. Not too many options."

"We'll find something that works for us. Are you considering other options? I know that sometimes major life events can shift an officer's direction. Many of my clients, present and former, spent a lot of hours deliberating on such decisions." Deanna kept her tone casual and pleasant as she could, still smiling serenely, in hopes of not triggering Shelby's trauma.

Shelby gazed at her with a neutral expression but tussled internally with anxiety for a moment. "No, I'm staying put. This is a good posting for me."

Deanna nodded, placed the cup on the edge of Shelby's desk, and folded her hands in her lap. "I want to apologize to you, Captain."

Shelby tilted her head. "For?"

"I don't usually drink as much as I did last night. I'm sorry for my behavior," Deanna said, shrugging uncomfortably. "I don't like being drunk, it disrupts my empathy and this morning it occurred to me that I may have said something offensive. I hope that I did not."

Shelby's forehead wrinkled, and she sat forward slightly. "Do you really hang your bra out?"

"Oh, that -- he's not got a lot of things to complain about, really," Deanna said with a grin. "I tossed it at him. It landed on his Kurlan naiskos. Ask him sometime about that naiskos and you'll understand why he wants to remind me to not throw things in its general direction."

"What the hell is a naiskos?" Shelby asked, incredulous.

"I'm sure he will explain fully, during the tour of the _Enterprise_."

Shelby's amused smile diminished somewhat. "I thought that you had an agenda, last night. I thought that the two of you were -- I don't even know. Trying to get me to talk about -- " She frowned suddenly and snatched up the coffee cup, went to the replicator and asked for another cup.

Deanna watched her come back slowly and waited for her to sit. "Admiral March contacted Counselor Kohlman and suggested that he contact me. I told the admiral what I would tell anyone, that you have a right to opt in or out of counseling, and that if Starfleet makes the consequences for that choice dismissal, that would be something else that you'd have to consider but it's still your choice. And he asked me what else could be done to help you, so I told him what any counselor would say -- that people who suffer traumatic losses fare better when they have social supports, and officers sometimes lack those. That you may yet rebound from this loss, without significant issues on duty."

Shelby's grimace made her anxious, but she said, "Thank you for that. The admirals have been pressuring me to talk to a counselor. I don't have much use for talking about it. Not with anyone aboard."

"What do you mean?"

"I really don't want to talk to Kohlman or anyone else in my chain of command. Not that I want to talk to anyone at all. But none of this would have happened if I hadn't let my guard down in the first place," Shelby exclaimed, with more emotion that Deanna had expected.

"I'm wondering if you wouldn't mind talking to me," Deanna said, padding the offer with as much softness as she thought Shelby would tolerate.

The hard stare said no.

"Not as a counselor," Deanna added. The second best option appeared to be more acceptable; Shelby's ire softened.

"I guess you more than anyone else might understand what it's like. Though I think you weren't his lover, when Captain Picard was assimilated."

The statement caused Shelby a great deal of anguish, but sounded only slightly upset. As usual, a starship captain's composure. Deanna smiled serenely, using the counselor's composure to hide her own wariness about this subject. "I think it would startle you to know that I broke rules, on Captain Picard's behalf, in the aftermath of his assimilation."

"What?" Shelby blurted. "You?"

"If I had followed the general best practices of my profession, I would have sent him away to an inpatient facility when he attempted to commit suicide."

Shelby spent quite a few minutes in a state of shock, then slowly started to shake her head. "Aren't you supposed to protect his confidentiality?" she asked softly.

"One of the exceptions to that rule is when I have express permission to share the material -- he knew that I would offer to help you, and gave me permission to share any details of my experience and his, if I believed it might help you somehow. He knows very well what it's like to be alone and dealing with trauma."

"He gave you permission to tell me he tried to kill himself. And you think that would help me to know that." Shelby was feeling anger on his behalf, now.

"Your vessel is in orbit as ours is. I could sense how you were feeling this morning before I arrived."

She laughed, but it was the harsh sound of someone on the verge of crying; she put her head in her hands, elbows on the desk.

"I'm sorry about Tony," Deanna said quietly. "I know how you feel."

"Oh, I'm sure," Shelby said harshly. She sat up and scrubbed at her eyes with her fingers. "How do you have friends?"

Lashing out that way was one of the potential reactions that Deanna had come to expect. As this was not a client, she chose transparency instead of some intervention. "I don't have very many. I chose to be in Starfleet, and there are not many Betazoids. The ones that do choose a life in Starfleet tend to be the odd ones, those of us who for some reason don't quite fit in at home. And humans are ill at ease with me. Captain Picard was initially uncomfortable but he came to trust that I was not using it to his disadvantage."

Shelby made a noise, something between a laugh and a groan. "So how long... when did you stop being his counselor? I assume that you must have, when you started -- you know."

"I knew he had feelings for me. The counseling relationship ended long before. As it should -- it wouldn't have been right to continue, after my feelings changed for him."

"I had that argument with Tony," Shelby said, before she really thought about it. Second thoughts set in, and anguish.

"Jean-Luc had all the arguments with himself," Deanna said. "And I still often spend time questioning my sanity. But as I said, I have made mistakes in the past, based on personal feelings, rather than professional judgment. I loved Captain Picard -- I felt a loyalty to my commanding officer that led me to compromise my professional judgment. I knew that if I sent him to an inpatient facility it would change him forever. Starship captains are proud, headstrong, determined, independent, and facilities do not always treat them with that in mind. If I had sent him away, it probably would have ended his career. I knew that he was being plagued with self doubt and blaming himself, in part -- very common reactions to trauma. I knew he questioned whether he would ever be fit for duty again. I knew at the moment he tried to kill himself that he was not himself, and my only thought was for him, to keep him alive, but afterward I knew that if I had lost him my own career would have been over. But I was fine with that. Of course, he returned to duty, after spending time at home."

"You loved him? All that time ago?"

"We all did. We were all loyal to him. There wasn't one of us aboard the _Enterprise_ who would not have given our lives for him, it continued to be true after Wolf 359, and that's true today as well," Deanna said. "And that is not unique to us -- officers are frequently very loyal to each other to the point that we get into trouble simply because our loyalty to our friends in the service of the Federation can be in conflict with duty."

"But -- " Shelby fell to thinking about the past; it was obvious that talking more about her past was keeping her calm enough to continue listening. "I remember in the debriefings at Command, admirals were criticizing Riker's decision to take Picard back. I supported that choice and told them that it gave us important intel, having him to examine and question. But Riker never said that was his motivation. He stated the facts, what was done, and let it stand."

"Was Tony a good officer?"

It was a risk -- but it paid off. Shelby smiled sadly, instead of escalating. "He was a very good officer."

"I think when you are not feeling so traumatized that what happened to him will make sense to you. And you will be able to be in command without hesitating to send friends into danger."

"How do you know that?" Shelby asked, but immediately winced. "Experience with trauma."

"Oh, yes." Deanna smiled again. "Are you ready for your tour of the _Enterprise_?"

"Yes. Let's go," Shelby said, rising, feeling a little relief that she didn't need to talk about it any more.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Jean-Luc found them with the help of the computer. Deanna had started the tour in engineering, and when he arrived outside main engineering they were coming out with smiles. "Captain," Shelby said happily, holding out her hand. She was a different person today. Something had definitely shifted from the sullen officer they'd met in the bar last night.

"Captain," he responded, taking her hand briefly. "My apologies, again, for not coming to your tour as planned."

Shelby waved his concern away. "Admirals will be that way, rearranging our plans for us. I am dismayed to find that a dreadnought has the same engines as the Sovereign class. Here I thought mine would be bigger."

He smiled at the joke, but because he saw it as a hopeful sign. Then he caught a look at Deanna's face. "You look tired," he said.

"Yes," Deanna said, in the abrupt manner she could have when caught out. That suggested she might have been hiding her weariness from Shelby.

"You should let me take her on the tour, and rest. You have an appointment later today for a briefing that I won't be privy to, for a mission I'm not supposed to talk about."

"Is that an order?" She had an amused expression, but informed him telepathically that she did indeed feel weary after having been on her guard constantly all morning, to avoid triggering Shelby's trauma.

"Not at all. Merely a suggestion. Brain injuries are pernicious, for some reason they take too long to recover from. I seem to recall the counselor lecturing me about that once upon a time."

"All right, I'll go," she said. "Elizabeth, I hope to see you later -- he might bring you for a visit to see the naiskos if you ask nicely, and I will probably be done with my nap by then."

"Sleep well," Shelby said. 

They watched Deanna disappear around the corner, and Jean-Luc waved a hand. "So what would you like to see next?"

"I have heard that you have an amazing astrometrics facility, and that there is a holodeck program that demonstrates how your counselor beat your former first officer during a war game," Shelby said, as she walked with him toward the nearest turbolift.

No wonder Deanna was so tired. Someone had been discussing things that she found stressful to think about. "There is, and it does not fail to impress. We also have a lot of cadets in a holodeck trying to hit targets with phaser rifles without hitting each other, if you're in the mood for slapstick comedy."

"I don't have cadets often, so that might actually be entertaining."

In the lift, he asked for astrometrics. When it was in motion she glanced at him with a more sober expression, and he thought a question was about to be launched. But she faced forward again.

"You are curious about something," he said. Inviting trouble, but Deanna had said she would be unlikely to talk about anything unless invited to do so.

"She said that you gave her permission to tell me about your experiences," Shelby said.

"And so you question, because you can't imagine that I would be able to come to the point that discussing the Borg would be comfortable for me, whether she obtained that permission. I will never respond to nosy questions for no reason, but it doesn't bother me to talk about it any more. I had a good therapist."

"Oh," she said, quiet, obviously taken aback by the idea that it might be possible.

"You do not understand, but I know what she has done today, and I can explain that as well."

Piquing her curiosity did the trick. As they left the lift, she turned to him and slowed in the empty corridor, looking at his face as if to ascertain whether he was serious. "What did she do?"

"She was making friends with you, but also she was nudging you along toward thinking about what happened to you that's managed to have the admirals concerned to the point of pushing you to get counseling. Each time she nudged and backed away, she was slowly encouraging you to make contact with, pay attention to, the traumatic memory so she could empathically get a sense of how much disturbance, how many symptoms, how overwhelmed you were. Tit-rating the exposure to the disturbing memories to begin the process of desensitizing it."

Shelby blinked, her eyes wide, her head tilting as she took that in. Then a wave of surprise crossed her face. "She was doing it last night!"

"What?"

"You weren't drunk," she exclaimed. "Neither of you were. You were sitting there _manipulating_ the situation so she could read me and figure it all out."

Jean-Luc put his arms behind his back and waited it out, wishing he dared reach out to Deanna but not wanting to disturb her. But Shelby seemed to be calming down, then the remaining emotion wasn't anger but anguish. "Elizabeth?"

"Why are you doing this?" She blinked rapidly, and finally used a finger to brush away tears. "This isn't your job! You don't really even know me!"

"We were on our way here for other reasons," Jean-Luc said. "And Admiral Gaines asked us if we knew you, and then if we would be willing to provide some support, as you appeared to have none -- apparently we're the only officers currently known to the admiralty as a couple, and that Deanna is a counselor probably helped. But the primary reason was more to do with the fact that we've had our own recent trauma in the line of duty, and likely Gaines felt that if anyone would be able to help you, it might be someone who understood what you were going through."

For a moment he thought Shelby would fly into a rage -- her face flushed, and she swayed backward slightly. But her hands came up to cover her eyes and she stood still. When she dropped them, she had tears gathering in her eyes again. "I'd like to see astrometrics," she rasped.

He nodded, and turned to lead the way. As they reached the door he paused before it could open. "I did not approve of the plan to manipulate you, initially. But Admiral March was on the verge of relieving you of duty and sending you to some facility, if Deanna could not reassure him objectively that you were not on the verge of a complete breakdown. Evidently your senior officers were all extremely worried about the changes in your behavior and your counselor's inability to give them useful information about your state of mind worried them."

"Why didn't March just tell me?" she blurted, angry now.

Jean-Luc sighed, thinking about when he'd asked the admiral that same question. "He said that he did tell you, Elizabeth. He told you two weeks ago, that your counselor needed to complete an assessment, or he would consider removing you from duty."

She gaped at him openly now, not even bothering to attend to the tears. "I... don't even remember," she said brokenly.

"Memory issues are one of the problems with trauma," he said gently. He smiled. "I remember that much."

She laughed, seemed to recover from it a little, and dashed her sleeve across each cheek.

He gestured at the door, and she preceded him through it. At least she seemed able to recover somewhat, he was relieved to notice, as the lieutenant-commander currently in astrometrics greeted them and Shelby was able to sound more normal.

After half an hour of chitchat about the astrometrics lab and some of the updates they had implemented, Shelby left the lab with him, and Jean-Luc wondered what to say. She saved him the work of figuring that out. 

"You truly aren't bothered by talking about the Borg any more," she said after they walked silently into the turbolift.

"What would you like to know?" That might open up the Pandora's box, but he had already promised his former counselor that he could do this.

Shelby's expression became incredulous -- her mouth open slightly, her brows drawn together, and she gazed at him with a slight frown. "How? How is it that you got over what happened to you? You can't expect me to believe that talking about it did that much."

"Would you like an explanation in full? It's technical, and I'm not sure I'm up to explaining the neuroscience of trauma."

"Yes," she said, with more surprise. 

"Computer, redirect turbolift to my quarters."

"But she's asleep," Shelby said.

"I doubt that. She's nearly as bad as I am about naps."

When they arrived in his quarters Deanna was coming out of the bedroom, bundled up in a robe and her hair down over her shoulders. He had a thought about tossing Shelby out, but chided himself and offered their guest a beverage. 

"I'll take some of your usual, thank you," Deanna said, after Shelby refused anything. "So you would rather talk to me than see the ready room or sickbay?"

"She asked how it is that I am able to talk about the Borg without feeling overwhelmed." Jean-Luc brought each of them a cup and sat facing her on the couch, while Shelby sat in one of the chairs. It was obvious that she was very tense, and he wondered if part of that had to do with Deanna being not only out of uniform but in a robe. But if Deanna was wearing a robe, she must have a reason. He didn't doubt she'd sensed them on the way here.

"Because he processed the trauma fully," she said. "That's the summary -- are you requesting a full explanation?"

"She wants to know the neuroscience. It's been years, and I'm not a doctor," he said. Turning at the waist, he picked up one of her padds, from where it sat on the end table, knowing it would be something she needed. 

Deanna used the padd to bring up a graphic of a cross section of the human brain. She placed it on the table in front of Shelby. "The human brain handles trauma the way it has done for thousands of years -- you may have heard this discussed in classes in command school. In summary, three key regions in the brain determine how a human reacts to any given situation. The frontal lobes, the amygdala and some of the midbrain region, and the hindbrain which is sometimes referred to as the reptilian brain. You do your job and have relationships and speak languages using the cerebrum, and particularly the frontal lobes. Everything makes sense when the frontal lobes are online and functional. If something is so stressful that your amygdala triggers a fight, flight, or freeze response, the frontal lobes shut down, partially or completely. The processing stops. Very traumatized individuals find themselves looping constantly through fight and flight. The goal for the therapist is to find a way to keep you calm enough that the survival response does not trigger while you are thinking about the incident, so that you are not retraumatizing yourself. So there are modalities that can be used that are not talk therapy -- the counselor will talk to you about this before you are asked to talk about the incident. You have a choice of which modality to use, to address the trauma. Part of it depends on what happened and how severe the reaction -- in his case, following the Borg incident, the trauma reaction lasted for days, and since his physical stability took precedence the doctors kept him in sickbay and sedated. When he was allowed to leave sickbay, I had to first get him to accept the help, then review with him this information and the options for how to proceed. He had to accept my presence, then he had to listen -- instead of continuing to panic that he would be stuck that way forever."

Shelby hunched forward and stared down at the padd. "They told us something like this at the Academy," she said after a long pause. "I've been resisting talking about what happened to Tony because it's too hard to think about it, because I panic, and refusing to talk to Kohlman because that's what I'm expecting him to want me to do. But that's not what he would do?"

"Trauma is not a disorder, really," Deanna said. "Your brain is literally operating the way human brains have done for generations, and the way it does this makes perfect sense if you were in a pre-industrial culture where survival was straightforward as killing a predator that was chasing you, or getting away from it. But humans have evolved a very complex societal structure and when things that are not threats directly to us -- emotional loss, for example -- the very straightforward survival mechanism complicates your ability to process the loss. It will treat all very disturbing experiences as if your life depends on avoiding them in the future -- it primes you to run away or fight, or freeze in place if the first two options aren't possible. That none of those options work means the flight is mental. You avoid thinking or feeling about the memory. Or you are retraumatized by it, and sometimes people don't want to have another relationship, as a result of the trauma of a loss."

"So why didn't anyone tell me any of this?" Shelby sat up again, running her fingers through her short blond hair. 

"I'm sure people have tried, but very likely they prefaced it by saying something that triggered a trauma reaction. Which we've already established means you aren't receptive to any form of rational persuasion." Jean-Luc waved a hand at his own head. "I was the epitome of this, the perfect example, until a certain counselor got me to hear her when she said I should stop imagining what horrible thing she would subject me to and start listening to her. Being stuck in traumatic responses traps you in a different reality."

"I wonder if you could tell me what happened, in summary," Deanna said. "It would give me an idea of how much process work you have already done. Because it's true that people will do some of that on their own, and it can get easier with the passing of time as well. Many trauma treatments capitalize on the brain's ability to do such work on its own."

Jean-Luc waited, stiff and tense, while that request was debated -- Shelby was once again lost in thought and with no indication of what she was thinking.

"All right," she said at last. "But -- what are you telling the admirals?"

"Nothing." Deanna's subdued smile was hopefully reassuring. "They weren't making an official request. March wanted a reassurance, not a detailed report. I think if you remember the past few weeks without the thought that they are trying to force you into anything you don't want to do, you may recognize that they are very much wanting you to remain in your current posting for the foreseeable future. But they have a duty to be certain you are fit and capable, and making good decisions -- your entire crew relies on your judgment. It needs to be unbiased by trauma. Admiral Gaines was encouraged by the fact that you were not storming out of the bar, despite our rejection of your insistence that we couldn't function on duty due to our relationship."

"I think you're actually tag teaming me efficiently and with surgical precision," Shelby said. 

"Deflection," Jean-Luc said, smiling at Deanna.

"You've had too much counseling," she replied, then turned back to Shelby. "Can you tell me what happened to Tony?"

Shelby almost collapsed in on herself -- her shoulders rolled forward again, and her face fell, tears starting once more, as she thought about answering.

Deanna sighed quietly. "Elizabeth, please go to Sam, and tell him that I explained this to you. Apologize to him and tell him you will work with him."

"And then come back for dinner, and we'll talk about other things," Jean-Luc added.

Shelby nodded as she recovered herself. "I can do that."

"Do you want to finish your tour of the ship? I'm sure you have not been in sickbay enough in your career," Jean-Luc said with some of the arch humor that he usually reserved for close friends.

It startled her, and the wavering smile was encouraging. "That's all right. I think I'll do what Deanna suggested."

"Good. We'll see you later, then," Jean-Luc said.

They watched Shelby leave, and Deanna fell against his shoulder gently. "I need to get dressed. I'm supposed to be on a holodeck preparing for the mission I can't talk to you about."

"Do you think she'll be all right?"

Deanna stood up, moved around the coffee table, and headed for the bedroom. "Too soon to tell. But I am hopeful."


	4. Chapter 4

Deanna arrived at the door to holodeck three expecting to find someone waiting there, but the corridor was empty. She sensed someone vaguely familiar inside however. The missive from Admiral Tessora hadn't informed her who would be assigned to preparing her for the mission, only that he would be a veteran of intelligence work for Starfleet, and would be training her in the Romulan language and in a Romulan martial art, as her cover for the mission would require her to be proficient in both.

The door opened, and she walked into a place she'd never been. The program in progress was a city street, a dirty one with tall buildings that reminded her of some of the Terran industrial era holodeck programs, and the smells were unique -- this was a new world. She presumed it must be Romulus. That was confirmed when a man walked around the corner in front of her -- a Romulan, with pointed ears and forehead ridges. She knew he was a hologram, though. There was nothing from him to sense.

She strolled down the street, watching occasional holographic people go by, and since none of them paid any attention to her or her uniform she supposed that the single real person she sensed in the holodeck intended to test her himself. Her wandering about followed a pattern of sorts; when she could sense him close, she turned toward him, and then he would move around her or retreat.

Then he ran at her -- she kept walking casually, knowing he was directly behind her, even after she heard his footfalls. Rather than let him complete the attack she whirled and moved into position to defend herself, catching him off guard -- but he wasn't there suddenly. He'd leaped aside, and stood in a similar stance, watching her, not even breathing heavily. He wore black, head to toe, skin-tight and no rank or commbadge evident.

"So you have your wits about you, and good reflexes," he said. "Good."

"Captain Glendenning," she said, by way of greeting. "Not the way I would have expected to start. What would you like to do now?"

He said something in Romulan -- she'd not heard the language in a long time, but understood most of it. And he made a few strange gestures, very subtle twitches of the fingers and some movements of facial muscles.

"I think you are telling me that I need to learn more of a particular dialect. That isn't the same one I was exposed to, the last time I was among Romulans."

He grinned. There was something odd about his emotions, but she thought it might be brain damage; every once in a while she ran into a human who had sustained head trauma resulting in damage to the parts of the brain that usually organized and controlled emotional responses. Gesturing for her to come, he walked back down the street they were on. So she fell in alongside him, lengthening her strides to keep up.

What followed was essentially a tour of a city on Romulus, and he continued to speak to her in the same dialect. Told her about the buildings, the agricultural base of the local economy, the military compound at the edge of the city, and then about the basic lock ciphers used in such facilities. He covered a lot of ground in the next two hours -- she did her best to speak the same language, practicing inflection and intonation, and to keep track of the information he was giving her. And then he asked her to repeat it back to him. So she did, as well as she could. She finally picked up that the strange movements were in themselves a sort of code, and started to attempt interpreting them. As she did so he made them less obvious.

"I think that's enough for today," he said at last in Standard. "Tired?"

"I was tired before I started. Starting to feel much more so," she replied.

"All right. So we'll meet tomorrow at the same time, without the ambush. You'll tell me what we talked about today, in the same dialect. We'll rehearse some of the martial arts skills you'll need to know."

"Thank you, Captain. So when does the actual briefing start?"

"When you're ready to go. You're moving along quickly, that will be soon." He grinned at her. "I knew you were more than just another pretty face."

"Just as I know there's more to you than meets the eye."

"Hope you aren't going to rat me out, there. It's better if you don't. Don't tell anyone you're working with me, either." Something about his feelings as he said it bothered her.

"Not even Captain Picard?"

"Nope. Intelligence work is tough that way, but he's done it so I'm sure he'll understand."

She had to agree that was true. "So I'll see you tomorrow, here?"

"Yes. Computer, arch." When he didn't start for the door, she turned and walked out herself. 

Jean-Luc had gone to the bridge, she discovered, as she returned to quarters and found them empty. Beginning to pull pins from her hair, she thought about Glendenning and wondered. She went to the desk and sat behind it, angling the screen so she could see it better.

"Computer, show me the Starfleet record for Captain Tom Glendenning."

The record came up, and the computer began to recite. "Captain Thomas Geraint Glendenning. Date of birth, March 21, 2325. Graduated Starfleet Academy, June 15, 2351. Currently ranked captain, in command of the USS _Phoenix_." The computer worked its way through a list of the man's promotion history, listed a commendation from battle in the Dominion War, several disciplinary actions for minor infractions prior to his promotion to commander. Nothing notable about his service record other than the mention of intelligence work without details -- there wouldn't be, in a public record. He was eleven years her senior, about the same age as Beverly.

She was still sitting there pondering when Jean-Luc came in. "There you are," he said, happy to see her. He came and leaned on the end of the desk. "How did it go?"

"I have a lot of work to do. Have you heard from Elizabeth?"

"No. Should I have?"

"You know how it goes, with mood swings. I wonder if she might have changed her mind about dinner. I'm already hungry, and more tired than I was before my nap." As she turned her attention to Shelby, she found that the captain had indeed turned her mood, and Deanna stood up suddenly. "Troi to Shelby."

With the verbal contact, Shelby's mood shifted. "Shelby here -- I talked to the counselor, as I said I would. I'm really tired. Forgive me but I think I need a rain check on dinner."

Deanna was torn between reacting to what she sensed and what she heard. "Of course," she said breathlessly, trying for casual concern. "If you need to talk you know where to find me."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow. Shelby out." She spoke tersely, in a hurry to sign off. Deanna sensed the anguish and the intent -- that dark impulse frightened her, as it felt too much like the last time she had to intervene when a starship captain was so distressed.

"That sounded off to me," Jean-Luc said at once. "Something's wrong."

Deanna tapped her badge again. "Counselor Troi to _Potemkin._ Send a medical team to your captain's quarters, and your counselor."

There was a pause. "I'm sorry, who is this?"

She rolled her eyes. Tapped her badge again. "Troi to Kohlman!"

"Deanna, hello," Sam said, sounding happy to hear from her. "I was about to contact you to thank -- "

"Sam! You have to get to her quarters," Deanna exclaimed. "Now! I'm on my way over." She started to move for the door. Jean-Luc followed her.

"Why?"

"Because I can sense what's going on and I don't think you have any time to waste listening to me explain why!" She ran into the turbolift.

Jean-Luc was right behind her, and rather than give the computer instructions, he touched his own badge. "Picard to transporter room one -- I want you to lock on to Counselor Troi's signal and transport her to the _Potemkin._ "

"Thank you," she said, as the beam started seconds later.

She left the transporter pad at a run, asked the computer where the captain's quarters were on the way into the lift, and was dropped off on deck seven. When she arrived she found the door open, and Sam standing inside with Shelby. She was furious.

"What the hell did you tell him?" she snapped at Deanna.

Though she cringed internally at the fury in Elizabeth's voice, Deanna stayed stern. "Did you intend to harm yourself?"

"I told you I wanted to rest!"

Deanna strode up to the woman and looked her in the eye. "Answer the question and I will leave."

Shelby glared, tried to -- but obviously remembered well enough that Deanna could tell she was lying. She deflated, looked at the floor, and put a hand over her mouth. "Yes."

"Promise me that you won't," Deanna said.

Sam watched them, horrified, his brown eyes darting back and forth. He wasn't sure what to make of this.

"Promise or I'll sit here until you do." Deanna walked around Sam toward the sofa.

"I promise." It was a defeated sort of mumble.

"Say it -- I promise that I will not kill myself." Deanna propped her hands on her hips. She knew she needed to be firm, but she didn't care for it. Sympathy would only annoy Elizabeth.

"I promise that I will not kill myself," Shelby said at last, almost sounding normal. And she meant it, which was reassuring. She seemed to be settling emotionally from what she'd been a few minutes before.

"Elizabeth." She came back to stand with her, reaching to touch Shelby's arm. "What happened?"

"I don't know. I talked to Counselor Kohlman and it all sounded fine, he suggested we start with biofeedback and he explained what that would entail. Then I got back here and it was so -- quiet." Shelby kept looking down.

"And it felt overwhelming to you," Deanna said softly. "If you don't want to be alone I'll stay here with you."

Shelby started to cry, hated that she was, turned away for a second but when Deanna stepped up and put an arm around her, she leaned in against Deanna's shoulder. Her mood had shifted away from the darkness, and she seemed to be starting to think again.

"I think we'll be okay, Sam," Deanna said.

"If you're okay with it I would like to stop in first thing in the morning, Captain," Sam said.

Shelby nodded. After Sam left, she moved away and glanced at Deanna. "Thank you."

"We should have something to eat. I need to contact Jean-Luc to let him know you are all right." Back to the mundane. The things that depressed people neglected, in their great distress.

Shelby moaned. "Or, I can just come to dinner? If that's still okay? I'm sorry -- I don't even understand how I went so off that way."

"I think I do, but it doesn't matter," Deanna said. "It only matters that you're all right and it will get better."

"I'll wash my face and we'll go."

Deanna waited, and Shelby took a little longer than expected but she could sense that the time was spent recovering from embarrassment and calming down a little more. When she returned Shelby looked tired but better. They left her quarters together.

"I've never felt like that before," she murmured as they walked. "Never had a thought about it before. How did you -- it's not like we were even on the same ship."

"I have a decent range, especially with someone I know," Deanna said. "And I confess that I wondered if you would feel that way -- part of my own trauma I suppose, from what happened to Jean-Luc." It had been eerily similar, in fact. Jean-Luc had seemed to be in a better mood when she'd left him, just a few hours before she'd sensed his mood turn and ran to his quarters.

"But that paid off. I think I would have been okay, if it had only been Sam. His coming to the door disrupted whatever it was. You seem to know how to get me back to calm, though."

"I'm glad I was paying attention."

They walked the distance to and from the transporter room, and when they came in, Jean-Luc leaped up from the couch, happy to see them both and tossing aside his book. "Elizabeth!"

"I"m sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I'm fine now. It was just -- a weird, jagged sort of depressed moment. I don't understand what I was thinking."

"Likely the lack of thinking and too much feeling, and it's been a hell of a day for you," Jean-Luc said. "What would you like to drink?"

"You should open some of your wine," Deanna said. Normally she didn't like resorting to alcohol but a glass of wine was also for special occasions, and having a friend over was one. "It's very good wine, Elizabeth."

"Zinfandel, I think," Jean-Luc said. He retreated to his bedroom to get a bottle, as he'd squirreled several bottles away in the closet.

"Do you have anything you're in the mood for, or should I -- Elizabeth?"

She was standing in the middle of the room in shock. Feeling dislocated. Deanna came back from the replicator and put her hands on the other woman's shoulders, smiling and waiting for her to meet her gaze.

"Sorry," Elizabeth said. "I'm disoriented for some reason."

"I know. Come sit down."

Jean-Luc returned as they spoke and went about opening the bottle of wine. "I spent a day like this," he said, sitting down across the table from them. "Feeling dislocated. Counselor Troi played chess with me."

"We can play after dinner," Deanna said. She gave him a quick frown and a mental nudge, and asked, "Were you still planning to go to practice?"

"Ensemble practice was rescheduled -- one of the violinists had a duty shift change, so Malia suspended practice for now until she can work out a schedule."

"I would love to hear you play, if you want to practice anyway," Deanna said, enthusiastic and trying to be gently encouraging. "Are you still working on the piece you were writing?"

"I stalled on it for a while, but I believe I may just have found more inspiration."

She smiled more warmly than before at him. He had been working on a long song that he had told her she'd inspired, and occasionally played it for her. Then she glanced at Elizabeth, and found their guest sipping wine and watching them with some mild dismay and surprise. "He plays a Ressikan flute. Some of the melodies he knows are haunting and beautiful." 

"I've never heard of Ressik."

It got them talking about something other than trauma. Deanna kept nudging the conversation farther from anything that might remind Shelby of depression, suicide, or Tony. Music and chess, wine, France, and finally she worked around to Jean-Luc's archaeological endeavors and after they had consumed meals of their own choosing and settled down with post-dinner beverages, he showed her the infamous naiskos. Elizabeth spent most of the time vacillating between feeling dissociated and being engaged in things they discussed with her. 

"You know," she said at long last, turning to them. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. But I should go."

Jean-Luc sat back after retrieving his glass from the end table and gazed at her placidly. "You should?"

"I was going to see if Data wanted to play poker," Deanna said. "But I'm pretty tired, now that I think about it."

"I really think I'll be fine. If anything else comes up I'll go to sickbay. Have them give me a sedative or something."

"If that's what you want to do. I trust you to keep your promises." Deanna stood with her, walked her to the door. 

"Thank you," Elizabeth said sincerely. "I'll talk to you tomorrow." She smiled at Jean-Luc, gave Deanna one last look, and turned to go.

"Dee?" Jean-Luc asked quietly, after the door shut. 

"I'm hopeful," she said.

"I'm beginning to think that when you say that, you are trying to be optimistic but something prevents it."

Deanna turned back to get her wine glass from the table, and almost made it back to sit on the couch with him. But the computer signaled an incoming hail. "Kohlman to Troi."

"Yes, hello, Sam," she replied, waving vaguely toward the bedroom door. Jean-Luc carried his wine glass into the bedroom obediently.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all. I'm back on the  _Enterprise_ and she should be fine for the night."

"I didn't catch it -- she actually seemed to me to be optimistic for once when -- I really am starting to feel like a complete novice, here."

"Then you know how I felt, when I confronted a severe and overwhelming trauma for the first time. Why don't you come to my office in the morning at ten hundred hours, after you've checked on her, and we'll talk it through?"

"Of course. Thanks, Deanna."

Deanna recycled her glass and went into the bedroom, just in time to catch Jean-Luc pulling his shirt over his head. She leaned against him, cheek to his chest, and let him hold her for a moment.

"I'm beginning to wonder why anyone would want to be a counselor," he said. 

"So am I. It's hard to remember what I thought it would be like. But this is not it." She wrapped her arms around his waist and hummed a little. "How are you doing, with all of this?"

"Developing a new perspective on what all of my stubbornness and obtuse behavior must have been like, for you."

She smiled at that. He really didn't know, but he didn't have to. "She'll be all right."

"How was the meeting with Glendenning?"

She stood back and looked him in the eye. "What?"

"It's not a difficult deduction to make. Bellamy and his ship left already, as did a couple of other Starfleet vessels, but the  _Phoenix_ is still here. I'm pretty sure he's a Starfleet Intelligence regular."

"It was fine." She had to step away from him to take off her uniform, but he helped, taking her jacket, then started to interfere as she pulled off the shirt -- he came up behind her and put his hands over her breasts. 

"Cygne."

"I think you still owe me a foot rub," she murmured, then laughed as he picked her up and carried her the few feet to put her on the bed. He sat next to her and they continued the process of undressing. 

When they were both in bed, when she was at rest in his arms and spooned against him, she finally was able to relax. Within seconds she was asleep. It felt like just a moment or two passed, and she was awake again -- for once, he was the first one out of bed, and she was there alone curled up in the covers. Rolling on her back, she rubbed her aching eyes and knew she'd been truly exhausted. Her eyes usually felt tired that way only when she had pushed herself too hard. 

She had showered and dressed by the time he returned. He wore a uniform, and carried a cup of coffee. "Good morning."

"Thank you, lovely fish. How long have you been up?"

"Not so long. The bridge paged me -- I had a short conversation with Admiral March, and Admiral Gaines." He handed her the cup. "You have messages, and Shelby already contacted me and said she is feeling better today."

"I'm going to my office -- I didn't meditate yesterday and want to spend the time before Sam gets there to recover. I'll check my messages too. What is it?"

He was looking at her as she spoke with a subdued smile, and she sensed pride, affection and other feelings that he usually had when they talked about career. "I hope we have time today for ourselves," he said, not addressing whatever it was he thought about. 

"I should be home for lunch. If you're here as well we can talk about what to do later." She took a step and kissed him, and wished she had time to linger. But there were many things to do and not enough time for all of them.

When she reached her office there was indeed a message from Admiral Gaines, thanking her and requesting that she contact him. Also one from her mother, and another from Beverly. Setting aside her coffee, she closed her eyes and spent half an hour meditating. Recording a short message to her mother was easy enough, since she had to be vague by necessity about duty-related activities, and there wasn't a lot of substance to Mother's missives when she was on vacation. And she drank her coffee, looked at the time, then wondered if she could get something to eat and be back in time to meet Sam. She went, replicated a piece of fruit and croissant in the break room, and ate it walking back to her office, just in time to find Sam walking up from the other direction. 

"Come in," she said, heading inside. "How are you this morning?"

"Better, if only because we made it through the night without another issue. She was tolerant this morning, even a little bit pleasant -- I think it'll be all right. I ran the first biofeedback session and left her in her ready room starting to review some reports."

Deanna settled behind her desk, and Sam took the single chair facing it. He looked tired too. "You had a good introduction to the stubborn denial of a starship captain, yesterday. Even if she is talking to you, she can be determined to make what she wants to feel actually happen by force of will. A strong trauma reaction turns her phobic to her own feelings, and she does her best not to acknowledge to herself because it feels like weakness to allow emotions to have power over her."

"I guess the habit of conquering the universe one mission at a time leads captains to think they can control their own emotions with such precision," Sam said. "I want to say, your support has been very helpful. She can't bully you, obviously. If I had walked in and ordered her to promise not to kill herself, she probably would have kicked me out of Starfleet."

"I suspect that is your fear talking. If you have established the client is a risk to himself, you have cause -- getting the chief medical officer involved and relieving her of duty would be your next step."

"It must be that I wasn't Starfleet from the start," he said with a sigh. "I can't imagine walking in and being that harsh with her."

"Being gentle with her only leads to her misconstruing that for sympathy, which implies that she needs that. It's less triggering to be stern. I know this because I can sense that from her. You're doing fine, Sam." Deanna wondered if putting in a word with Gaines would possibly lead Starfleet to have a care of where they put counselors recruited into the fleet from civilian life. It really was a different mindset in Starfleet.

They fell to talking shop, and Deanna finally had to send him back so she could meet with a client. Natalia stalked into her office fairly thrumming with anxiety.

By the time she got home for lunch she was tired again. Jean-Luc stopped playing his flute when she walked in. "Please don't stop," she said, sitting on the couch and letting herself tip over so she could curl up with her head on his thigh.

He felt sympathetic, and put the flute back to his lips and played a slow, melodic song quietly, until she fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm informed we are to drop you off in three weeks," Jean-Luc said, as he brought his meal from the replicator.

Deanna's nap had been short, and she obviously felt better. She looked up from her plate with surprise. "Informed by whom?"

"Admiral Tessora sent me instructions. Terse, and with very specific instructions for our medical staff."

"So I only have three weeks to be ready. That should be adequate," she said, picking up another bite with her fork.

He was very curious, but accepted that he wasn't to know anything more than what he'd been told. "Is what happened to Shelby typical?"

Her chewing slowed, and she studied him briefly. "What happened?" she echoed.

"The sudden suicidal impulse."

"There are statistics," she said, poking her food with her fork, suddenly appearing less interested in eating. "Suicide is not as common as it once was, among humans. But the mood swings after a recent trauma are very much a problem, when combined with a very driven and decisive mindset -- the things that make you a good captain won't help you recover, when there's been a recent shock to the system. She hated to feel so much at the mercy of her own emotions, and wanted it to stop. She's still very much at risk, unfortunately, but I think she is listening to her own counselor now, so it's a relief -- I can relax and be less vigilant, and be more of a friend instead of the strange hybrid of friend and counselor that I've been."

"I've been thinking about my own brush with actually wanting to die," he said. "It was exactly what you said, wanting the intolerable to cease -- wanting control of myself, and to be free of the excruciating pain in addition to the fear that I would never be able to get my life back as it had been. Being afraid that Starfleet would see me as untrustworthy regardless of the removal of the implants. Being convinced that I was damaged forever."

Deanna was now pointedly involved in eating, and not looking at him. He paused, and wondered.

"What's wrong?"

She blinked, and looked up. "It's hard for me to think about that time. I was so afraid of losing you then. I don't like thinking about it now."

"Because it was traumatizing for you," he said, feeling guilty. "Watching me go through it. I'm sorry. It's too easy to forget that you have a different sort of recall -- you remember it more vividly than I do, don't you?"

"I'm glad it's a distant memory for you now. That means it's true, the bad memories were processed," she said with a faint smile. "But I do remember it very well."

"There are gaps, in my memory," he said. "For a while I wasn't sure I wasn't dreaming. But I think you were there continuously, after I tried. You were there in every memory I have until I felt stable."

They ate in silence, and he thought about being so irrationally distressed and angry at her; it started to upset him in retrospect that he hadn't really ever apologized to her.

"I don't expect people to apologize to me for feelings that I sense, you know," she said, clearly illustrating how well she could interpret what she sensed from him.

"Deanna. I tried to hurt you," he said, putting down his fork. "I should have apologized."

"Please stop dragging me into the past with you. It doesn't matter. I don't force clients to apologize to me for having problems, or feelings, or behaving in ways that clearly are due to the issues that brought them to counseling in the first place. I'm not holding it against you."

"So do you think that you are done, with worrying about Shelby? If you are perhaps we can find some time to go wander in the holodeck?"

Finally a smile returned to her face. "We can go tonight. Something relaxing."

"I have a program with a beach."

"It never ceases to amaze me how many kinds of beaches there are in the galaxy," she said. She started to eat again. "Is this a good one for bare feet?"

"It is. Might even be nice enough for bare bodies."

She laughed at him. "You only make love in sand once, so obviously you haven't done it yet."

"I'm considering taking that as a challenge, or simply altering the holodeck program. We'll see." The annunciator sounded as he reached for his glass. "Well, that took less time than usual. Come!"

He stood up as the admiral entered the room, and Deanna followed suit. Gaines stood for a second and appraised the situation, then smiled. "I'm sorry to interrupt. Would you mind taking a moment to discuss something with me?"

"Not at all. Please have a seat," Jean-Luc said, gesturing at the couch. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, I won't take much of your time. I know you're likely about to return to your afternoon duties," Gaines said. He sat, and Jean-Luc took one of the easy chairs. Deanna started for the door, but the admiral gestured at her. "Commander, please join us."

Deanna hesitantly took a seat on the end of the couch, sitting stiffly. "Sir."

"Thank you for your efforts on the behalf of Captain Shelby, Commander. I spoke with her just a bit ago. She said that she is starting to feel better, and understands more than she did about trauma thanks to you. Now that she is working with her counselor instead of avoiding him, I have high hopes." 

"I'm glad Elizabeth is doing so much better." Deanna had her professional counselor's smile.

"I wonder though, what arrangement you have made here on the  _Enterprise_ , for your own captain," Gaines went on.

"Counselor Davidson will be working with Captain Picard as needed. I of course have taken a step back from that aspect of our relationship." Her smiled started to be a little forced at this point. 

"And how many times have you met with Counselor Davidson?" Gaines asked, turning to Jean-Luc.

"Well, I haven't had a need to meet with any counselor lately," Jean-Luc replied. He kept his tone as idly curious as he could manage, while feeling the irritation rising at this line of questioning. "And the annual assessment is still months off. Are you seeing something that leads you to question my mental health?"

"I wouldn't go that far. It was merely a question, Captain. As you know, these sorts of relationships are generally frowned upon," Gaines said, gesturing vaguely at Deanna. 

"You know that we have already spoken to H'nayison, and that I've been nothing but forthcoming -- and if you were to ask my first officer you would know that he has explicit orders to speak up if he has any reason to question my objectivity, or hers."

Deanna cleared her throat lightly. "Admiral, I am curious -- were you perhaps using this situation with Captain Shelby to have an opportunity to watch us, while we were in a situation helping someone else in the aftermath of a loss of an intimate partner?

Gaines smiled at her, and shook his head. "Now, Commander. That sounds almost paranoid. It simply occurred to me to ask what measures you were taking yourselves, to avoid compromising on duty."

"It seems odd to me that you would bother to ask, on the eve of my sending her on a mission that will place her at a high risk for being killed." Jean-Luc also thought about, but did not mention, the way Gaines had used them and now criticized the very aspect of them that had been so helpful in turning Shelby around. "If there's anything that I have plenty of practice with, it's watching officers taking risks. She could recite her medical record for you, if you like, as could I -- she has a very good memory of watching me get killed, or nearly so, in the line of duty. She came very close to it just a few months ago at Galisi."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

"I don't think how he feels should matter to you," Deanna put in. "It doesn't matter to Starfleet how we feel. It's our business, our emotions are our own, and if they don't have an impact on our work it can stay that way. When it has the potential to impact duty we self correct, we recognize it right away and refuse to let anything hamper the mission."

Gaines studied her for a moment. Jean-Luc almost wished he were empathic as well -- it seemed to him that the admiral was frustrated. "I see. Thank you, Commander. I will be departing with the  _Ticonderoga_ on my way to Deep Space Nine in a day. I appreciate your assistance with getting Captain Shelby to accept the help she needs." Gaines stood up and left their quarters.

Deanna sighed heavily, watching him go with a stressed, worried frown. 

"They can't do anything," Jean-Luc said quietly.

"Other than ask us repeatedly if we are still being objective. Ward explained a saying to me that seems appropriate -- being pecked to death by ducks?"

"If they have any questions you can direct them to me," he said angrily.

"Unless they are asking the ship's counselor about the captain?" She shook her head and stood up. "I need to stop in my office and check messages, then go see a man about a secret mission."

"I'll see you at dinner, then. And we will have a relaxing evening together without this nonsense."

"As you wish, dear fish."

When he stood up she came to him and brushed her lips against his, lingered with their cheeks almost touching, and turned to go. "As you wish," he said.

"I will enjoy relaxing with you, so yes. See you later." She cleared her dishes from the table and recycled them on the way out.

He watched her go, and mulled over the conversation with Gaines. The potential for an endless stream of bad assumptions from flag officers to correct bothered him. He recycled his plate and headed for the bridge, feeling frustrated but needing more time and information to feel that he could come to a conclusion that was of any use.

The lift picked up deLio shortly after it left his deck, and then redirected -- and Shelby came in. "Just the person I was coming to see," she said, smiling and looking perfectly normal and composed. 

"I'm heading for the bridge. You're welcome to join me in the ready room," he said. "deLio, I believe you've met Captain Shelby? This is my security chief, Lieutenant-Commander deLio."

"Commander," Shelby said with a nod. "Nice to meet you."

"Captain." deLio's green eyes traveled slowly from her face to Jean-Luc. "Sir. How is Commander Troi?"

He wanted to ask why he would question that she wasn't fine. But Jean-Luc replied, "She's doing well."

"I saw her on the way to her office. She appeared to be in distress."

That the L'norim would comment raised a few questions. deLio had always seemed detached and rational, as L'norim were reputed to be as a species. "She may have been," Jean-Luc said. "But I am sure she is all right."

The lift stopped and he stepped onto the bridge; there were only three officers present, as they were in orbit around Rigel IV and not schedule to depart that day. Jean-Luc headed for the ready room and Shelby followed him in.

"Something wrong?" she asked at once as the door closed behind them. He settled on the couch, rather than head for the desk, and she took the single easy chair. 

"Admiral Gaines was here, questioning whether we were being appropriate on duty. Annoying but not concerning."

Shelby made a face. Then gave him a look of such seriousness that a new worry settled into the pit of his stomach.

"Elizabeth?" he said quietly.

"You need to watch yourself," she said, just as quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"I kept it quiet. I know Tony kept it quiet. My crew aren't connected -- no admiral's kids, no siblings of ambassadors. Nothing in my logs. The admiral knew before he got to me that I had something with Tony," she said. "I'm not like you -- they send me into battles and not diplomatic endeavors. I know what I am, to them. I can't talk to my old buddy admiral so-and-so and get insight, so I lay low and do my job. But I keep my eyes open. I appreciate your help, Jean-Luc, very much. Deanna was very effective in getting past my defenses and waking me up to the fact that my trauma was consuming me, and it helped me get better perspective. The biofeedback is helping as well. So I wanted to return the favor. Tell you the answer to the question you didn't ask me, because you probably didn't want to upset me more than I already was."

"What question would that be?"

"Why I was so determined not to get the help I needed, to not confirm to the admirals that I had a relationship with Tony. Why I avoided being open about it. We argued, about regulations. Tony insisted as you do that we didn't have to worry about it, because neither of us would fail to do our duty -- we knew that wouldn't happen. I told him there was more to it than that, and he called me paranoid." Shelby's tight smile suggested she was keeping a lot under wraps; she may be better, but it would be a while yet before everything about losing Tony was not floating beneath the surface, to be activated by the mere thought of him. "I'm not paranoid. I've seen strange things, Jean-Luc. I didn't want Tony to be used against me, or vice versa."

"Used against you in what way?"

"Any way they can," she said.

"Who are you talking about? You mean Admiral Gaines? Starfleet Command?"

Shelby gazed at him with sympathetic eyes. "I don't know, exactly."

"Do you imagine," Jean-Luc said, crossing his legs and giving his jacket a tug, "that anyone who has four pips does not know what you are talking about?"

"Have you ever been approached by them?"

"Not to my knowledge. But they likely wouldn't approach you wearing a uniform by which you could recognize them, would they?"

Shelby smirked. "No. I don't imagine that they would. I'm sure most of them are actually Starfleet."

"I refuse to live in fear of an illegal and possibly fictional organization."

"That simply tells me you really haven't had anything they could use against you. Now you do. Maybe that should be part of the data you factor into your future plans," she said, standing up. "I'm supposed to head out on the Neutral Zone, now that you're off it. Kohlman says that if I continue to respond to the biofeedback as I have I will be on duty within the week. My first officer is in the meantime taking us on patrol. Thank you, for everything."

"I hope you know that our goal here was to help you, Elizabeth. Regardless of any admiral's motives."

She laughed, shaking her head. "If there is anyone in the universe that I would believe when they say that, it would be you. Tell Deanna to call me so I can thank her myself. I tried to contact her on the way in, but the comm system wasn't making the connection."

He watched her leave the ready room, and sat for a while deep in thought. Data came in to ask a question, and so thoughts of Section 31 went on the back burner.


	6. Chapter 6

Deanna walked out into the simulation of the same city, and stood in the middle of an open-air market watching holographic Romulans buying food. The market was new. She picked up pieces of fruit and watched some of the holograms peeling and eating some, as they walked away. She spent some time wandering, knowing that Glendenning was somewhere in the program, but it was instructive just to observe -- the program was surely accurate.

She had taken some time to read about Romulus and review her own notes and logs from her time aboard a Romulan vessel, in her office before coming. She walked up to the building in the middle of the city. This would be the local government, a smaller copy of the 'palace' in the capitol city. She walked in the front door past the guards.

Unexpectedly, one of them turned to speak to her, ordering her to stop in Romulan. She did, waited while they scanned her, and answered several questions. She was ejected from the building. She walked around the exterior studying the layout and slipped through a fence in the back to have a closer look at some of the doors.

As she walked away from the government building she sensed him approaching. This time she turned and watched him, and he walked up to her. Today he was in Starfleet uniform, gray shoulders and red shirt. "Commander."

"Captain."

"That was a nice attempt, but you'll need to work on your technique," he said, pointing up at the tall tower behind them.

"You've been in Starfleet as long as I have," she said. "Have you noticed anything changing?"

He smiled happily at her. Hands on his hips, he cocked his head and studied her with those shining blue eyes of his. "The level of awareness ratchets right up there, with promotions. Also being farther from the Academy propaganda machine and keeping your eyes open changes things a lot."

"You don't see changes, since the Dominion War?"

Glendenning shrugged. "Attitudes. Starfleet flag officers aren't quite as saucy when they can't afford to lose their captains. This is an interesting line of questioning, considering what we're here to do."

"I suppose. It's just interesting to hear the opinions of other officers. Hardly anyone seems to talk about it, but I can see differences."

He wasn't smiling any more, as she spoke. "What differences do you see?"

"I think it's obvious that starships are spread thin, across the Federation. We can't seem to be on a mission very long before we're reassigned. Exploration has come in second to everything, since the end of the war."

"Is that why you agreed to intelligence work?" He started to walk down the street away from the building. "Your yen for adventure has been unfulfilled for too long?"

He spoke in odd euphemisms, but she thought she understood. "Not exactly. Maybe I've learned too much, and can't be just another counselor any longer."

"That's the trouble with the universe. Just when you think you have it explained, it throws you a curve ball."

"I'm not talking about the universe. Haven't you ever had a personal goal and met it, and then felt like there was more to be done?" Deanna was distracted for a moment by a few holographic Romulans walking the other direction -- she hadn't seen people in more casual dress in the simulation, and definitely not aboard the warbird she'd been on. When she looked at Glendenning again he was standing with crossed arms, looking at her with interest.

"Starfleet tells me what my goals are," he said, stepping out again. "Now, for today's session -- let's hear that recap of yesterday."

She walked with him and let him have the lie -- his own goals were his own, to reveal or disclose as he wished, after all. She started to explain in Romulan the summary of what she had learned during their previous session, as they walked down the street.


	7. Chapter 7

Jean-Luc left the bridge to Ward, and Data came with him, continuing their conversation. "I believe we will be able to improve engine efficiency by five percent."

"Every little bit helps. I keep hearing murmurings about transwarp. It's too bad we haven't been able to implement it." They entered the turbolift and Data requested deck eight. "Have you heard anything about it from R&D?"

"As you say, only rumors. The transwarp project has been tabled and restarted at least five times over the past century." Data paused. That usually meant a change of subject, and Jean-Luc was not disappointed. "Malia informed me that we would have practice tomorrow, at the end of alpha shift. She requested that I confirm with you that this was an appropriate time before announcing it to the rest of the ensemble."

"That should be fine. When we are done at Rigel we will take the ship to Casperia for a few days of leave. Our next ongoing assignment will be system surveys in the Typhon sector."

"I am curious, sir. You have not mentioned what it is we are doing at Rigel." They left the lift and Data followed along, heading for the captain's quarters.

"I am unable to discuss that right now."

"There have been an unusual number of personnel coming and going since we have arrived. Some are not assigned to the  _Enterprise_. I suspect that there may be a classified mission for one of the crew?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that. Have a good evening, Mr. Data," Jean-Luc said, turning to go inside.

"Good night, Captain." The android went down the corridor toward his own quarters.

Inside the captain's quarters, there was no one. Jean-Luc hesitated and thought about it -- Deanna had not mentioned anything on her schedule for the evening. "Computer, where is Commander Troi?"

"Commander Troi is in sickbay."

He ran the first few steps, stopped in the corridor, and proceeded at a deliberate pace toward the lift.

She was on a biobed, but sitting up, watching Dr. Mengis wave what turned out to be one of the smaller handheld regenerators down her arm. She turned her head to look at him, and he saw that her hair was loose across her shoulders, her right eye was bruised, and she held her right wrist in her left hand as if protecting it.

"Captain," she said.

He stared until he recovered his wits, and wagged a finger at her wrist. "I believe we are sitting in orbit around a Federation world. This confuses me. Are you all right?"

"I have had no luck with understanding these injuries so if you are able to determine their origins, it would help me as well," Mengis said, touching her chin. She turned her head as instructed and the doctor focused the regenerator on the facial bruising.

Deanna said nothing. Her lips were pressed together -- she was not happy, and now she was avoiding his eyes.

He waited until the doctor was done, and walked with her from sickbay. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. When they were back in their quarters, she immediately went to start taking the uniform off. He followed her and watched her changing into a blue dress. Lately she had taken to changing out of uniform after alpha shift, when there was a high likelihood of no red alert.

"Dee."

His soft summons got her attention at last. She gathered her hair back and tied it, as a final step, and turned to him with questioning eyes.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"It's an assignment, not something I volunteered for," she said. "I don't think I have an option."

"I could object to the assignment."

That was the wrong thing to say. She flushed, and turned away. "On what grounds?"

"It's a classified mission, clearly very important, and an officer going into it should have confidence."

Deanna stared at herself in the mirror, instead of looking at him. "Am I an officer right now?"

"No, but I'm too much of one -- I'm sorry," he said at once, realizing what he was doing. Running a hand over his head, he thought again, and started to take off his uniform. "I can't deny that I'm worried about you, but I also have to see and respond to concerns that I should have as a captain."

"I'm sure I'll tell the captain if I think I'll be unable to complete the mission. But I understood that part of the reason for having someone to train with is to determine just that, whether I'll be up to the task." She was starting to sound angrier, but also tearful.

"Are we still going to the holodeck? I will do better at keeping business for alpha shift," he murmured, hoping.

She turned with startled eyes. "Of course," she said, smiling at last. "I've been looking forward to it. Let me wash my face."

By the time she came out, he had put on a plain shirt and pants, some comfortable shoes, and spent a moment setting aside the concerns of duty. She came to him and he welcomed her into his arms, into an embrace that seemed to be more comfort than affection. She kissed him, and it led to the bond flaring forth to claim them both.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, as they parted.

"I have no real complaint if we always recover from these moments of confusion so quickly. Are we also eating dinner on the holodeck?"

"We can. Shall we?"

As they approached the door to holodeck two, he thought she seemed hesitant. But he walked in, and she followed, taking his hand. "Computer, run program Picard two forty two."

And they were suddenly on the beaches of Casperia, at night. The sand glittered around their feet as they took a few steps down toward the water. "It's beautiful," Deanna whispered, as if afraid of breaking the spell.

"Yes. I've never been to Casperia. I think we have to go," he said, watching wisps of cloud drift in front of the pale blue moon hanging over the ocean. There were a few winking stars in the blue-black sky; the water was darker than the sky overhead. It was warmer than he expected a beach to be, definitely warmer than a beach on Earth would be, likely due to the minimal breeze. 

They walked for a while, and then asked the computer for a bench. A table, for dinner, and when they were done she banished it with a command and they sat for a while in easy silence, feeling connected and content. Eventually he thought it might be a good time to make another attempt, with more intention, at trying to talk about his concerns.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She laughed quietly at him, glancing at him, leaning closer -- he put his right arm around her as a result. "Are you sure you can resist professionalism?"

"If you can."

"I know the language I'm trying to perfect, and I can practice it. I know that I can remember what I'm taught well enough. But it's similar to the Academy in that I am doing things that I was never trained to do and never expected to do. And the more I work with him, the more I wonder if I'm really suited to intelligence work. I come home to you and I want to share everything with you, and I just can't."

"Why?"

She was stunned for a few moments. "That's what he tells me," she said at last. "I can't tell anyone. Not even you. But how do I shift from encouraging others to share, and being open and forthcoming as I can, to not talking about what I'm doing?"

"It sounds almost as difficult as going on leave."

Deanna laughed, proving that practice was helping him on his timing. "I plan to help you make that less difficult."

"As I plan to help you make your experience less difficult. I'm starting to get the idea, but I need more practice."

"I think we are still settling in. Learning each other's moods, under different circumstances. I'm sorry I was so upset earlier."

"Not at all. Especially when it is something I can help you with."

She looked up at the sky, her face painted silver in the moonlight. It was difficult to read her expression, and the connection had faded somewhat as they talked. "It would help if you could tell me more about Glendenning."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know him? Or do you know more about him than just his Starfleet record?"

"March said that he has done some intelligence work in the past. Other than that, there's not much else that I know. Our paths haven't crossed before. So are you saying you don't have a good sense of him?" That in itself surprised him.

"I was very focused on Elizabeth. In the training I focus more on the work than on him, though when I do have an opportunity to pay attention to him, I wonder why he is so different. Although I suppose it could be that he has some sort of training to defend against telepathic incursion," she added, as if just now realizing that might be possible. "It would make sense for him to do that if he does a lot of work with Starfleet Intelligence."

"Maybe we should ask him to come to dinner. We would have a better chance of getting to know him if you're off duty."

Deanna leaned on him again. "I can ask. I'm doubting that he will do so."

"I'll contact him -- I don't have to mention that I know he's working with you to invite a fellow captain in. Do I?"

"No, I suppose not."


	8. Chapter 8

This time, when Shelby met her in the transporter room, Deanna had a genuine smile. It was always rewarding to see someone change, and Elizabeth had turned around her outlook on life in just a few days. "Welcome aboard, again," she said, waving Deanna down from the pad. They left the room with a nod to the transporter attendant.

"I'm glad I could see you before you left Rigel," Deanna said as they walked. "How are you?"

"Doing great, thanks to you. I had to apologize to Sam, for acting the way I did, but he told me he chalked it up to the avoidance part of it all. I really didn't want to talk about Tony."

There was more to it than that, and Deanna sensed the reticence of a not-quite-lie. "I've been shouted at more than once, over the years. We learn to take it in stride -- officers can be high strung at times. I see the biofeedback is helping?"

"It's a very strange process, but yes. It really doesn't feel like anything is changing when you're doing it, but the results have been great." Elizabeth led her into the lift. "How are you doing? I heard the admiral gave you a bad time yesterday."

"You could say that. I suspect it was the first of many such conversations he'll have."

"Why would he tell H'nayison?"

On the one hand, this was a blunt and intrusive question. On the other, it said that in just a few days, Elizabeth was comfortable asking it of her. "Jean-Luc has a fairly well known reputation for honesty and transparency, I believe."

"When it comes to Starfleet and his actions on their behalf. I had no real concept of him as a person until now, and I have not a very clear one at present. But," Elizabeth said with a grin and an eye roll, tapping Deanna's shoulder, "I have an idea that you have him wrapped around your little finger."

"As many humans as I've known, I don't believe I've ever heard that euphemism. What does it mean?"

"At your beck and call? At your mercy?"

"Oh. In some respects, perhaps. But I don't care for that idea -- that I have more control over him, somehow. I don't think of relationships that way."

"Give it time. I'll also guess that when you come back from whatever secret operation you're going on, he'll be inclined to spoil you even more."

"Perhaps for a while, he might. If I come back."

They went in the turbolift. "Deck seven," Elizabeth said. "If you come back? Not a positive outlook for you to take."

"It's a realistic one. I understand the human impulse to want to put a positive frame on things to make it easier for them, but I can tolerate the reality for what it is. I know there is a lot of risk in what I am planning to do."

"I have to wonder why they tapped you to do it," Elizabeth said. The lift door opened and they left it, Deanna following her, and they entered the captain's quarters.

Elizabeth's living area was sparsely decorated, less so than Jean-Luc's. She was nearly entirely standard issue but for a picture frame on each end table. One was of her with what certainly must have been her family. The other was of her and the bridge crew. Deanna picked it up and studied it closely.

Elizabeth leaned and tapped on one of the faces. "That's him."

"He has a nice smile."

"Not the only nice thing about him by a long shot." Elizabeth watched her put the picture back.

"You have a question?" Deanna sat on the sofa, and Elizabeth joined her, crossing her legs.

"I guess this empathy thing really saves you a lot of time," she said with a laugh. "I'd like to tell you about Tony."

"You feel you're ready for that?"

"I do. That biofeedback really did wonders for me, never would have guessed that was possible, to go from feeling that overwhelmed to being able to think about what happened with just a few tears." A few of those tears were glimmering in her eyes as she spoke, in fact, but she was right. Deanna could tell she was no longer flooded and panicked.

"Why do you want to tell me, when you have a counselor?"

Elizabeth was unhappy with that suggestion, her expression one of displeasure. "I don't mind doing the biofeedback but I really don't want to talk to him."

Deanna nodded, but didn't understand. "You should have a counselor that you feel you can trust."

"I'm actually thinking he might be -- I don't know. Maybe it's nothing." Elizabeth looked down at the floor, lost in thought for a moment. "I think I may be paranoid."

"About Sam?"

Elizabeth appraised her for a minute. "What do you know about Section 31?"

Deanna pursed her lips. "As much as anyone. Rumors and conjecture."

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Oh," she blurted, laughing. "Of course. It's an occupational hazard, having secrets to keep."

Elizabeth's smile was fleeting. "Tony was one of them."

Deanna stared, mouth open, and couldn't seem to recover. So Elizabeth went on to explain.

"He told me, early on. He explained to me that he never intended to be, but that they have a way of worming into your life before you even know it's them. That you can start out being Starfleet and then assigned to some mission that doesn't feel right, and if you are particularly useful and not amenable to following along with their goals you might find yourself being blackmailed. He was on a mission for Starfleet Intelligence, something in the Cardassian Union during the war. He found out after he was in the middle of the mission that it wasn't Starfleet." Elizabeth's eyes drifted away again, as she wandered into memory. "There were a few missions assigned to us that he warned me about, that the Section wanted him to do something -- sometimes it seemed like the most inconsequential task. But he said they always have a plot and backup plans for it, and that at times simply nudging events in the right direction is sufficient, other times they use brute force and blackmail -- if they think some action is in the best interests of preserving the Federation, it doesn't matter to them what they have to do, who they have to kill, they will get it done."

This wasn't what she'd expected Elizabeth to talk about. As she thought about the ramifications, she thought she understood more about how Elizabeth might have concluded she could trust no one. "Are you telling me this because you think I need to be warned?"

"Section 31 of Article 14 does grant leeway in extraordinary circumstances but there are people taking it to that extreme. Yes, I think you do need to be warned."

Deanna thought about the last years on the  _Enterprise_ and frowned. "There hasn't been anything unusual or questionable that made me think they were involved in our missions."

"That's the way they prefer it to be. Starfleet unaware of their agents, or their activities. A completely successful Section operation is undetectable as such. Tony told me that they only interfere when they have to, when there is risk to the Federation."

"They may have been very active during the Dominion War." There had been a lot of desperation and hopelessness in the ranks, for a while.

Elizabeth grimaced at that, which she took as confirmation. "I don't know a lot, because he wouldn't tell me."

"He must have trusted you implicitly," Deanna said. "I can imagine that telling any commanding officer might have resulted in a visit to the brig, or at least intense questioning."

More tears, but she smiled through them. "I know. But -- "

Deanna took care in how she phrased the question, because she sensed the anguish. "Do you feel that he made it difficult for you by telling you that the Section is real? That knowing this colored your perception of officers around you, potentially influencing how you interact and how you make decisions on duty?"

Elizabeth laughed the uncomfortable, nervous laugh of confirmation. "Deanna. What do I do?"

"You could always leave Starfleet."

The extreme solution was enough to knock her back from the anguish. Elizabeth sighed, her chest rising and falling visibly. "The best I can, then. I warned Jean-Luc."

"I'm sure he already knows about them. I am equally sure that he won't let that affect his approach to any of our missions."

"Yes, I imagine so."

Deanna thought about how Elizabeth felt and the direction of the conversation, and said, "You can tell them that I was sufficiently frightened of the prospect of being manipulated by them."

She leaned back, eyes wide, and started to protest. Deanna put her hand on Elizabeth's arm.

"I know you aren't one of them. You're afraid they will come at you, though, or manipulate you. Which is what they are hoping. I expect the ambiguity and no one ever knowing when they will come at them, out of nowhere, to threaten or harm, helps them be successful when they do intervene. The human freeze response no doubt helps them manipulate people without needing to resort to violence."

"You don't find it alarming that anyone around you could be one of these people."

Deanna shook her head. "I take people as they are, and if they change there are decisions for me to make. If they are recruiting from within Starfleet and their recruits are duped, used without their awareness, manipulated -- there is a chance to talk them around."

The computer announced someone at the door; Elizabeth was startled out of responding to that. "That's the counselor. I'm supposed to do more biofeedback."

"I should go then. But call me, keep me updated on how you are doing. And I will do the same."

"Thank you," Elizabeth said as they stood up together. "I appreciate your help."

Deanna walked at the door, and it opened, admitting Sam Kohlman. "Counselor Troi," he greeted, smiling.

"Hello, Sam. Have you ever heard of Section 31?" 

He was stunned and confused. "No. Should I have?"

"Just curious. Talk to you later, Sam." Deanna walked out of Shelby's quarters.

"Thank you," Shelby called after her as the doors shut.

Deanna walked through to the transporter room deep in thought, transported to the  _Enterprise_ , and went home. Wearing a gi to meet with Glendenning would help, she decided. Trying to best him wearing a uniform had led to bruises and sickbay. Perhaps being able to kick and punch without tearing her clothing would help.

Jean-Luc was seated on the couch when she came in, and smiled up at her, letting the padd he held drop to the cushion beside him. She came to him and sat down. "She's doing well. Though still very anxious, about a number of things. Are you doing some research for our next mission?"

"I'm reading some of the logs from the  _Potemkin_ 's encounter with the Borg. I was curious as to whether there might have been anything in them that would suggest we might be facing the Borg ourselves shortly." He usually read log entries of others rather than listened, she'd noticed. He waved the padd. "So far, nothing to suggest an invasion is imminent, but there is some indication they went looking for them rather than responded to a distress call."

"Looking for a Borg vessel that assimilated a colony, or a vessel?" Deanna asked.

"Apparently they went out in search of intel."

"Elizabeth said she warned you," Deanna said.

"So she also told you that she thinks we're about to be blackmailed by Section 31," he said, irritated by it.

"Not exactly. She told me that Tony was one of them."

His head jerked back at the statement. "Well."

"I am wondering, from all the mixed emotions she's had and all that she's said, if what really happened might have been thus. Tony had an assignment, Elizabeth tried to convince him not to do as they wanted him to, and he did it anyway then was assimilated in the process. And she felt guilty, because she wasn't able to talk him out of it, and anxious because she wasn't sure they wouldn't come recruit her to finish the job. And now that her secret is out, that she and Tony were together, she is afraid the admirals will take her less seriously."

Jean-Luc sighed heavily and looked down at the padd. "You think that Section 31 wanted Borg technology."

"I'm only guessing. I don't have enough information to do so with any conviction. But she obviously trusts us enough to tell us about him."

"All these years. I have to wonder why, if they are so active, the Section has never bothered us."

"That you know about."

He frowned, and she got up, starting to take off the uniform. "I would guess that having you aboard might have kept them at bay? Surely you would have sensed whether anyone aboard had been duplicitous during a mission."

"Perhaps." Deanna went to change, thinking about that some more.

Too many questions. Not enough information.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real tin man steps out of the shadows...

Tom Glendenning slowed down, took smaller steps, out of respect for the little woman whose head barely reached his shoulder who'd just managed to keep him mostly at bay for longer than most of his human sparring partners. She was tired, not really paying attention to him as they left the holodeck. She straightened her gi as she wearily walked the corridor toward the turbolift.

He hadn't praised any of her efforts beyond commenting that she was a quick learner, as part of his task was objective evaluation. Tessora wanted to know whether she was a good choice for the mission. She hadn't mentioned how Troi had been chosen for the mission, but he'd suspected that someone talked to someone and recommended her, after she'd pulled something off -- so he'd reviewed her file, not the public one but the detailed one kept encrypted for flag officer eyes only. It was impressive that she had survived a trip undercover on a Romulan warbird, especially after being stolen away against her will, unprepared and uninformed.

He'd also guessed that it might be an admiral with a grudge against Picard. Officially no one would dare manipulate things to move this way, unofficially -- Tom had been tasked with information gathering on the brass in the past, taking extensive notes on them for future reference. The Section took the old saying 'knowledge is power' to heart. By the time an officer got three pips, there would be a file in a secure computer with their name on it. No influential person left unresearched.

It was the first time he'd walked out with her. Generally he waited for her to leave first, to avoid chitchat. He didn't like getting to know them -- the new recruits were best kept at arm's length. Everyone was, he'd decided some time ago. People he called friends really didn't know him too well. It was easier that way.

"Your captain asked me in for dinner," he said as they got in the lift.

"I know. He told me." She was keeping things close to the chest as well. It made him aware that the woman in the bar was a facade as well. She didn't look at him as she asked for the correct deck.

"I debated not coming. But he knows it's me you're meeting, so I figured that would be fine. There are plenty of other things to talk about. Unless you don't want me to be there?"

She turned her head then, and her fathomless black eyes measured him soberly. "It's fine," she said at last.

He thought about her at the bar, in the red dress. Confident and energetic, leaning to kiss her old man on the cheek. Enjoying the time with him despite everything. She hadn't liked what she had done in that bar, but from what Gaines had said, Shelby had ignored Troi's attempts to contact her, had shown up at the bar at Bellamy's invitation, and then Gaines had slipped out to contact Picard -- the entire thing had been last minute and yet, Troi had pulled it off with a minimum of prep work.

He followed her down to the door of the captain's quarters and she went in without a glance at him. Picard turned from the table to greet her with a smile, then noticed him -- his expression shifted, his hand came up, and Glendenning was greeted with far less affection but no suspicion or ire. "Tom. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Got any good rye whiskey?" The easy, genial Captain Glendenning was a familiar and well-worn role. He slipped into it easily, giving the man a lopsided grin. He glanced at Troi -- she disappeared into the bedroom through the door off to the right.

"How is she doing?" Picard asked, turning to pick up a bottle of whiskey sitting on the table. He poured some over ice cubes in a tumbler that was ready and waiting.

"Give it another day or two, I'll be the one with bruises. Betazoids are tougher than they look." He was exaggerating. He'd been more or less unstoppable since he'd had the implant lodged next to his amygdala and wired into the parts of his brain that controlled things like adrenaline or pain. He could move much faster than he had so far, if he had to.

"I know you won't give me any details. I'll ask only for reassurance that she isn't going alone," Picard said, bringing two drinks and handing one to Glendenning.

"I know it's Starfleet regs, having two people minimum on missions. But we're spread pretty thin, as you know, and the fact that we're asking her at all should tell you how thin. I'm being tasked with some long haul out toward the Breen Confederacy shortly. There's also the fact that it's not the sort of mission where she'll need to really engage with anyone -- reconnaissance, and verifying the presence or absence of a Federation asset."

"Spock?"

Glendenning's smile waned. "A good guess." It wasn't a guess, because Picard had been on Romulus before himself, to meet with Spock. Part of his file had gone on extensively about it. But Picard had been discovered almost immediately. His efforts had fallen in line with what the Romulans wanted, so he had not been apprehended. Letting him believe it was Spock was an effortless way to protect the identity of the actual asset.

"The only Federation asset I was aware of within the Empire, so my only guess," he said with a wry twist of his lips. He raised the glass but offered no toast, and they took the first taste of the whiskey. It was a good one, in keeping with the man's stature.

"Shelby wasn't wrong, but she wasn't right," Glendenning said, seeding the conversation he wanted to have.

Picard raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"You may find it's a little more difficult than you anticipate having an officer in your bed."

Picard's expression shifted subtly; his jaw moved slightly, his head came up just a millimeter, clearly taking umbrage against a very veiled accusation. He was as the Section understood him to be -- intuitive and sharp, not to be trifled with. The general rule for Section agents in contact with this particular officer was to be genuine, be Starfleet, and not step outside regulations.

"I expect it will be just as difficult as I anticipate," Picard said, with little inflection.

Glendenning laughed -- he did enjoy a challenge, just as much as Picard obviously did. "I expect you've decided you don't care, for obvious reasons. She isn't what one would assume."

"I have never been in the habit of indulging stereotypes."

"Yeah, I see that. There she is," he exclaimed, turning to greet Troi with open arms. Not that he expected her to walk into them. She had put on a dress, not the tight thing from the bar but a sleeveless model with a calf-length skirt, in a warm shade of amber. She had a cool, formal smile in place. With her hair loose she was a stunner -- shapely and lovely, when her face wasn't closed down to contain her reaction to stress.

"Would we like some appetizers before dinner? I believe I'll have something to drink as well." She went to the replicator and asked for something synthaholic.

"Tom was just telling me you're doing very well," Picard said, moving toward one of the chairs.

"It's not a difficult language, once you know Vulcan," she commented. She turned and shrugged a little, sheepish, giving Glendenning a little smile. "I talk in my sleep sometimes."

He laughed at that -- the first genuine laugh he'd had in a long time. "In fifteen languages?"

"Someone's been looking you up," Picard said, more jovial than he'd been in the bar.

Troi took her drink and a small plate of appetizers to the couch, placed the plate on the table, and sat down. Glendenning went to the other chair, having waited til last so he could position himself at an equal distance from both of them. "I try to be as informed as possible when I'm given an assignment. Not that I would be able to converse with you in Sicarian, but it's nice to know you are so talented. You might be able to pick up a similar language more quickly than someone who doesn't speak Sicarian."

Troi had a very slight frown, thinking about that. She sipped her tall pink beverage, and her eyes flicked to Picard and back to him. "Are you suggesting that you are intending to assign me to future missions for Starfleet Intelligence?"

"Naw, that's not my job -- hypothetically speaking, if for some reason you need to, it's good to know you can pick up languages easy," Glendenning said, waving his hand.

"I would guess that you have done intelligence work often," Troi said. "The brevity of your record suggests it."

"Some good guessers we have here. I see you have an interest in archaeology," Glendenning said, gesturing at the shelves behind the desk.

"He does," she said, with a genuinely affectionate smile as she looked at Picard. The elder captain returned the smile before responding -- it was interesting, how much went on between them without words.

"It's been a hobby since the Academy. I'm occasionally able to indulge. She's trying to talk me into participating on a dig that's coming up in a few months, in fact."

"You need a break," she said firmly.

"This is the counselor," Glendenning said, raising his glass to her and taking another sip. "I bet you have a real compelling lecture on the damage caused to the human body by chronic stress."

"It sounds like you have heard that lecture yourself," Deanna said, with a little of the amusement she had not shown him since the bar. "About taking care of yourself, taking more leave, learning to relax."

"My chief medical officer has a less appealing version. She uses big words. Also she doesn't like this," he pointed at the glass.

"Neither do I," Deanna said. "But he only indulges when we have friends in for a visit." She turned and raised her glass to sip through the straw as she gazed at her captain again, with a sly smile.

"You have a similar vice?" Glendenning asked, gazing at her over the rim of his glass.

"Chocolate," Picard said. He was quite relaxed, leaning back with his legs crossed as he sipped and savored the whiskey.

"I've never met a chocolate I did not like," she said.

"I would have never known," Glendenning said with a warm smile.

He knew something was afoot when instead of continuing to smile at him, she let her smile fade, and turned to sipping her drink, her eyes dropping. Before he knew it, before he recognized the impulse, he stuck his neck out.

"I know I'm not your favorite person right now because I'm supposed to train you hard and fast for this thing they want you to do, but I have to wonder, was it something I said?"

Her eyelids swept up and she gazed at him with unexpected intensity. Picard noticed, and tensed slightly. Looked at Glendenning, and then watched her sit there with squared shoulders, balancing her drink on her knee.

"What do you know about Section 31?" she asked, as if inquiring as to the nature of his hair color. As casual and cool as he'd ever heard -- she was probably one of those hellish counselors who could get answers out of people simply because she could lull you into complacency with the tone of her voice.

He paused -- on the verge of over-reaction. He was saved by the implant -- he'd adjusted it to a high setting on purpose, keeping his reactions to her blunted so she wouldn't sense anything that confirmed her guesses. He'd watched her feinting at Elizabeth Shelby and knew what she could do. He was risking her guessing that he wasn't like other humans, but that was better than her sensing answers that he didn't want to give.

"Same thing you know," he replied, waving the glass in a circle. "They're ghosts, they're rumors. They hide in your closet."

"Or sit in your living room pretending to be Starfleet officers," Picard said unexpectedly.

Glendenning laughed at it incredulously. "Sure," he said, slumping in the chair a little more. "Because if they do exist that's what they would be, right? How else would they be able to operate?"

They looked at each other, and Glendenning was positive then -- he was being judged. And then he realized, all at once, something that the admirals were missing, in all their anxiety over this couple -- Troi was not just a girlfriend hanging out in the captain's quarters after hours. The issue they feared, that Picard would somehow suffer some failure of judgment due to the presence of one of his subordinates in his quarters, was not the real problem. This was a team. Two very intelligent people with goals, who were not accepting what they were told would happen, because they were determined to do something else.

"Section 31 is a boogy man," Glendenning blustered, knocking back half the whiskey in one go. It seared the back of his throat. "They made it up to keep the rebels among us in check. Oh, I can guess Intelligence sends someone out every so often to do something not exactly by the rules. But that doesn't mean there are boogy men."

Troi made a face. "Boogy... men?"

"One of those cultural commonalities," Picard said. "To keep children in line, parents will make up stories -- the devil will get you, or the monster under the bed if you don't stay in bed like you're supposed to, or the boogy man if you are out where you don't belong. To keep them safe they scare them into compliance."

"Betazoids don't do that to children. What a horrible thing to do," she exclaimed.

"My mom used to tell us we'd have to go out and run two miles if we didn't do what we were supposed to, but I guess that's not preventive," Glendenning said, making up something just to test whether she sensed he was lying.

Inconclusive -- Troi looked at him again but said nothing at all, and after a few seconds she took another hit of her sugary faux alcoholic beverage. Picard sighed quietly, and put his glass on the end table to his left, the ice clinking.

"Section 31 is described differently by those who claim to be a part of it," he said.

"Claiming to be part of a secret society sounds like something a braggart would do, to impress people. Because why the hell would you just tell people about it? A little suspect, don't you think?"

"So you maintain then that a Section 31 agent would dodge and deflect, perhaps even deny, likely with some skill at doing so?" Troi asked.

"Or sound like someone who is not an agent? I bet this all started because the Section is the figment of some creative officer's imagination to explain why he did the things he did. Somebody made me do it. I had to, or they'll kill my mom. Just like the kids you went to school with would do -- my dog ate my padd, my little sister deleted my homework. Only in my case, my big sister did it because that's just the way Cat was, when you use her makeup without asking." Glendenning waved a hand dismissively. "I take responsibility for fuck-ups, thank you very much. I'm no great intellect but I can do the job."

Picard looked to her, and she leaned forward to get an appetizer. Something intense seemed to be passing between them. 

"You sound pretty serious about this," Glendenning said with a grin. "Are you recruiting or something? I sure wouldn't put it past someone to grab that rumor and run with it. Anyone can claim to be Section 31. I bet they don't have badges, or credentials. Hell, let's set one up for ourselves. One of the perks can be this whiskey."

"You said you were heading for the other side of the quadrant -- is something going on with the Breen?" Jean-Luc asked casually.

"There might be. There've been reports of movement along the borders. You know how it is." He drained the glass, and Jean-Luc got up to fetch the bottle back, to refill Glendenning's glass then his own. "You know, there are times when I look back over the past twenty years and wonder why I'm still doing this?"

"I know what you mean," Jean-Luc said. "But -- there are worse things. Sitting in a house on Earth staring at the sky every night. Alone."

"Or sitting on Betazed listening to my mother," Deanna said with a roll of the eyes.

"And no one there has any idea what this is like," Glendenning said, thinking about his sisters. "You want them to not know, but at the same time you want them to understand why you don't want to talk about the Cardassians or the Breen."

Both of them regarded him with serious, steady looks that suggested they knew what he was hinting at. It told him they understood being captured by the enemy. He knew, from their files, the roles each of them had played -- she had helped him come back from being tortured and assimilated.

Troi picked up the plate and offered it to Picard, who took one. "Have you considered a promotion?"

When Glendenning laughed, they smiled with him. "I'd rather go to Feringinar to retire."

"I would go to Vulcan I think. But yes."

"Why not Risa? Or Casperia, or Seldonia?" Troi stood up then, gesturing toward the table. "We should eat."

"She can tell I'm hungry," Picard said. 

Replicating meals occupied them for a moment or three, then they were seated around the table. Troi talked about things that were familiar to anyone in Starfleet. Glendenning found himself wishing for the easy companionship they had with each other. It had been a long, long time since he'd seen such a thing. Since he'd been completely at home with someone -- so long that he had trouble remembering what it was like.

He found a break in the talk of leave, to turn to Troi with a smile. "So, you said you're an empath. Are there circumstances where you are sometimes telepathic?"

She only spent a moment considering it. "There are a very few people I can speak to that way."

"Like him," he said, pointing with his fork at Picard.

"Yes. Why?"

"I was thinking -- this mission, it has two parts. One where it's just reconnaissance, one where there's more to it and it would be better to have a partner. Tessora wants it to be me. But the body language would be more natural for the role if you had someone you knew intimately, and he's been to Romulus once before. Guessing he wouldn't pick up the language nearly so quickly, but if you were able to pass him what he needed to say on the fly, he might just pull it off well enough." Glendenning gestured with his hands as he spoke. It was an old habit, that at one time he'd tried to break, but there were times that he felt it was just enough of a distraction that he could get away with something. Tessora had no such expectation, but the difference between Deanna on the holodeck and Deanna with her captain was obvious. The admiral would trust his judgment in this, having no real experience with Betazoids; Tessora was Andorian and the past decade had been on Earth.

"You are saying that there's a chance he could go with me?" Deanna asked, interested and even a little excited.

"Tessora likes me, and I've worked with her enough that she knows I don't bullshit with her. I can put in a word, she'll probably see the rationale just fine." Missions had gone wacky before due to personnel issues, personality clashes -- some of the usual stable of undercover usuals had crashed and burned in spectacular fashion during the Dominion War.

"How long is this mission supposed to take?" Picard asked.

"It will take as long as it takes," he replied in Romulan. The translator did nothing, as he'd asked the _Enterprise_ computer not to translate that language and not rescinded the request. "The first one, two weeks. The second one likely a month."

"So should he come with me tomorrow?"

Glendenning dropped his fork on the plate and clapped his hands, rubbing them gleefully together. "Yes, indeed."

"How reassuring," Picard said drily.

Later, in his quarters, Glendenning sat down to dictate his report for the day and thought about the conversation. He thought about the shift in mood, after the revelation that they might be able to go together. He thought about the way she looked at Picard, and how Gaines had been unable to rattle them. Gaines was not an implant-carrying member of Section 31, but he was aware and had used Section agents during the war, to good effect. He had been instructed to look into the Picard-Troi situation and better inform Command as to whether there was reason for concern. His report had been copied to the Section, and forwarded to Glendenning for verification. He decided that Gaines had not done a very thorough job -- approaching them as he had very openly, with blunt questions, had put them on their guard.

Glendenning opened a channel with a retinal scan from his desk monitor and accessed the device he'd stuck to the bottom of the table during dinner.

"If he is, he's not likely doing it willingly," Troi said. It had been about fifteen minutes since he'd left them, so this might be the post-dinner assessment of him.

"I'm not convinced. I've seen nothing at all to suggest they even exist." Picard sounded exasperated.

"You didn't notice how carefully constructed his responses were. Most of the time I wouldn't have detected a lie because all he did was deflect. Passing it off as a myth, a rumor, and then being dismissive -- how childish it is to even believe the Section exists. That was a direct appeal to you, to agree with it."

A pause, and an audible exhalation. "Was there anything you sensed from him that causes you concern?"

"He's an excellent agent. Able to muddle what a Betazoid can sense from him. But generally I could tell he enjoyed talking to us. He was a little sad, some of the time. I think he's been very lonely."

The hint of sadness in her voice was enough to shake him up. Tom Glendenning, the unshakeable and unreachable, leaned forward over the desk and kept listening, refusing to let the way his heart seized in his chest affect him.

"I meant concern for -- never mind," Picard said patiently. "Do you believe he's part of Section 31?"

"I think he's just the kind of person they would want. I think it's likely. But I don't see that it matters -- he's a Starfleet officer, and he hasn't done anything so far other than just what he has stated he is here to do."

The benefit of the doubt struck Glendenning another blow. He held his breath as she spoke.

"What did you think of his idea that I accompany you on the mission?"

Another pause. "I don't think you should go, Captain."

Her tone had changed. Glendenning smiled, hearing it. He didn't doubt that personally she was afraid to see him go, but that was a subordinate trying to protect her captain.

"Deanna."

"It would be easier for me to have a more experienced officer along, but ultimately it would be best if I went with him -- he has more experience in Intelligence work, and I suspect he is as lethal as he needs to be, for the task at hand. I know he's been pulling his punches when we are sparring."

Now, that was a bit of news. Glendenning kept smiling -- she kept surprising him.

"So I'm not lethal enough?" Picard sounded amused.

"I didn't say that -- I don't know that we'll even need to be lethal. But... part of me wants to protect my captain, part of me wants to protect you, and the rest of me doesn't even want to go at all."

"And some of you sounded excited at the prospect of going with me. And I think he has a point -- there were times that telepathy would have helped greatly, when I've been on a covert ops mission before."

Glendenning closed the channel. He sat in silence in his dark quarters, staring at the wall.

"Computer, record private log," he said, knowing he had to do it. That was the way he always started logs that went into Section files. Personal logs were Starfleet. "Subjects, Jean-Luc Picard and Deanna Troi."

He paused for a long time, and eventually realized that he was reticent to do the usual brain dump of observations. That he felt -- something. He turned off the implant. Gasped, in surprise, and gradually stopped breathing hard.

"Captain Picard and Counselor Troi have a solid relationship. They are guarded about it in the company of other officers, but there are some indications that she's communicating with him telepathically. I'll continue to observe and report anything significant. End log."

Far shorter than his usual, but when there wasn't much, they could be that short.

He stood and went to the viewports over the couch. Looked up at the flagship of the Federation, the sleek Sovereign class vessel that made his old bucket look like it came out of the boneyards.

Funny, how suddenly having feelings again could turn things around. He tended to be numb most of the time even with the implant turned off completely. The last thing he expected was to feel the urge to protect them. Tell them truths, and be a peer, instead of being a caricature of a man as he'd so often been with other officers. It had been far too long since he'd been in the presence of people who truly cared. It reminded him of the times he'd sworn to do away with Section 31 and free himself and everyone else they had under their thumb.

Picard hadn't expressed doubt at any point that he, or Deanna, could not complete the mission. He hadn't expressed concerns about the bruises Glendenning had sent her home with the previous day. There had been no bluster about keeping her safe, as some men would have done. Glendenning could tell that he regarded Deanna Troi as an officer, and expected her to do her duty. It was a startling thing to hear Troi's analysis of Glendenning's efforts to keep his secret -- she didn't seem to care, though she seemed to understand what he was.

Glendenning had no one he could tell about his growing determination to return to goals he had as a much-younger man. Recording a personal log was definitely not in the cards -- he was sure anything he put in the computer was fair game, to the Section. But he could still think, and for the first time in years, he thought he might have a chance at something beyond being a tool for others to use.

Hope, he told himself. The word is hope. A word he had not used in a long, long time.

Hope in a tight red dress.

It was easy, he decided, to commit to a course of action that the Section would not appreciate, since they had appreciated nothing and taken everything from him that they could. Deanna had seen him as a person. It had awakened a part of him he'd thought was long dead.

There would be changes in his life very soon. What that would look like, he was not yet certain. But change was coming.

 


End file.
